UC-NRLF 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 
MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


ifrc*ja  u  e         en  r  y 


DOCTOR  OLDHAM 


AT  GREYSTONES, 


AXD 


HIS    TALK    THERE 


De  omnibus  rebus  et  quibusdam  aliis. 


NEW  YORK : 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

346  &  848  BKOADWAY. 

LONDON:  16  LITTLE  BRITAIN. 

1860. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S59,  by 

D.  APPLETON  «fc  CO., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States 
for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  library  table  and  Mrs.  Oldham's  opinion  of  it — Idea-images  ;  the  cau 
tion  necessary  in  reducing  them  to  feet  and  inches — Drawers  made  to 
prevent  husband  and  wife  pulling  together ;  yet  serving  to  a  more  lov 
ing  harmony — Shattered  ideals — How  Mrs.  Oldham  was  like  Sir  Isaac 
Newton's  dog,  and  Doctor  Oldham  not  like  Sir  Isaac— The  wisdom  of 
nonsense, 1 

CHAPTER  II. 

Which  grows  out  of  the  inartistic  way  this  book  began ;  but  gives  the  au 
thor  a  chance  to  speak  of  the  courteous  reader  of  the  last  age  ;  and  also 
to  explain  himself  to  the  courteous  reader  of  the  present  day,  .  .  15 

CHAPTER  III. 

"Which  comes  between  the  last  chapter  and  the  nest  one — The  reader  may 
omit  if  he  will ;  but  he  will  lose  something  if  he  does,  .  .  .  .20 


IV  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

The  library  not  made  for  the  table— The  recess  that  was  not  realized  and 
the  window  that  was — The  library  as  finished — Doctor  Oldham's  opin 
ion  about  good  company— He  quotes  Doctor  Southey  and  discourses 
about  him, 27 

CHAPTER  V. 

Greystones :  and  what  Downing  might  have  said  if  he  had  had  the  altering 
of  the  plan  of  it, 33 

CHAPTEE  VI. 

Henry  Eeed — Coleridge  on  Wordsworth  s  verses — The  Doctor's  theory  of 
the  distinction  between  man  and  the  brutes,  and  also  of  the  edible  and 
potable  universe,  as  propounded  to  Professor  Clare,  .  ,  .  .49 

CHAPTEE  VII. 

Short,  if  not  sweet— Difference  between  the  author  and  Eabelais.  and  some 
other  celebrated  writers, 62 

CHAPTEE  VIII. 

The  Doctor  visits  Mrs.  Eossville's  school— And  tells  his  wife  what  he  said 
to  the  little  folks  there— Mr.  Grim— How  God  takes  care  the  children 
shall  not  be  hurt  by  bad  catechisms, .  .66 

CHAPTEE  IX. 

More  talk  about  children— The  good  Lord's  contrivances  to  prevent  their 
being  shut  out  of  the  world  of  fiction,  .  'I'  ">  .  .  .  .76 

CHAPTEE  X. 

Glimpses  biographical  and  auto-biographical— "With  observations  inter 
spersed  that  are  worth  a  chapter  in  themselves, 84 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XL 

How  nature  shows  her  gladness — June  and  Junefulness — "When  a  nose  is  a 
good  thing — Is  it  an  organ  for  the  beautiful — The  glories  of  October — 
Nature's  picture  gallery — Art  and  its  limitations — Mrs.  Oldham  asks 
two  very  great  questions, 93 

CHAPTEE  XII. 

Professor  Clare — The  Doctor's  talk  about  the  starry  heavens — Addison  and 
Shakspeare — "Word-painting  and  other  painting — "Where  the  universe 
ends  and  how  it  is  filled — Mrs.  Oldham's  two  questions  are  not  an 
swered,  .  V  '.  '  ".  -  .  '  •  /•„"''•  •  •  •  •  •  104 

CHAPTEE  XIII. 

More  about  the  stars  and  the  earth— Pantheism— Whether  any  thing  can 
become  so  small  as  to  become  nothing  and  yet  remain  something — Time 
and  space — Mrs.  Oldham's  two  great  questions  again,  and  the  way  they 
were  answered, .117 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 

The  Doctor  preaches  to  his  daughter— Quotes  "Wordsworth  and  gets  into 
heroics— Also  he  fulfils  a  scriptural  duty— Eemarkable  street-sweepers 
and  knife-grinders— Comforting  doctrine  concerning  shirt-making  and 
stocking  mending,  .  .  . •  -  •  .  •:  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .133 

CHAPTEE  XV. 

Wherein  the  Doctor  says  pshaw  to  something  advanced  by  the  author,  and 
advances  his  own  notions— Comfort  and  swill  not  the  highest  felicity 
for  rational  beings— The  world  needs  martyrs,  but  Crooke  Eacket  not 
the  right  type,  ....  .150 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

Lot's  house  in  Sodom— Jonah  in  New  York— The  Doctor  villifies  univer 
sal  suffrage  and  an  elective  judiciary  in  a  very  shocking  way ;  and 


VI  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

makes  the  most  unsupposablo  suppositions — An  extraordinary  ticket 
for  city  offices, 158 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  short  chapter  on  judge-making— Not  amusing;  and  not  so  likely  to  be 
interesting  to  those  who  need,  as  to  those  who  do  not  need,  the  instruc 
tion  it  contains, 176 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Something  oa  universal  suffrage  and  sacred  rights — Wherein  is  seen  how 
Professor  Clare  and  Pelham  Brief  differ  from  each  other,  and  the  Doc 
tor  from  them  both, 183 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Hard  and  dry,  perhaps — But  going  to  the  bottom  of  a  subject  immensely 
important  to  be  understood  in  this  country, 195 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Very  short,  perhaps  unpalatable— Yet,  if  true,  ought  not  to  give  offence  to 
any  good  man, 209 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

Also  short— Not  without  interest  for  some  minds — But  likely  to  displease 
two  sorts  of  readers  and  to  shock  one  of  them, 213 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  Doctor  at  a  woman's  rights  convention — "What  he  did  not  say  there, 
but  would  have  said  if  he  had  said  any  thing, 220 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
On  Dee-deeing, »       .  •". 247 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  XXIY. 
Tweedledum  and  Tweedledee, 254 

CHAPTEE  XXV. 

Some  of  the  Doctor's  notions  about  conversation — His  practice  is  another 
question, 258 

CHAPTEE  XXVI. 
Preliminary  to  another, 263 

CHAPTEE  XXVIL 
Of  owls, 265 

CHAPTEE  XXVIII. 

The  Doctor  says  some  things  that  sound  very  strange  to  Mrs.  Garland- 
Bad  Christians  and  good  heathen— Mr.  Grim— The  necessity  for  a  good 
God, 26G 

CHAPTEE  XXIX. 

Professor  Clare  gets  back  to  Japan,  and  the  Doctor  is  unduly  severe  upoa 
cant  and  the  gospel  of  cotton  fields, 278 

CHAPTEE  XXX. 

Mr.  Stockjob  Pile— Alderman  Gubbins— Hardhead  Bullion— Bob  Slender 
—It  takes  something  inside  to  make  something— which  is  declared  at 
the  end  of  the  chapter, 285 

CHAPTEE  XXXI. 

About  Caspar  Tuberose  and  his  wife— TVith  other  things  touching  the  con 
stitution  of  a  gentleman, 297 

CHAPTEE  XXXII. 
The  Doctor's  horse— What  and  why  about  him, 313 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
All-hang-together-uess, 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

L'Enroy,  perhaps— Containing  something  natural— And  also  something  su 
pernatural  from  which  nothing  came  except  some  natural  remarks  of 
the  Doctor's,  .33* 


DOCTOR   OLDHAM. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE  LIBRARY  TABLE  AND  MRS.  OLDHAM's  OPINION  OF  IT. IDEA- 
IMAGES  ;  THE  CAUTION  NECESSARY  IN  REDUCING  THEM!  TO  FEET 
AND  INCHES. DRAWERS  MADE  TO  PREVENT  HUSBAND  AND  WIFE 

PULLING  TOGETHER ;    YET    SERVING   TO    A    MORE    LOVING   HAR 
MONY. — SHATTERED   IDEALS. HOW  MRS.    OLDHAM  WAS  LIKE  SIR 

ISAAC  NEWTON'S  DOG  AND  DOCTOR  OLDHAM  NOT  LIKE  SIR  ISAAC. 
THE  WISDOM  OF  NONSENSE. 

THE  family  were  all  gathered  around  the  large 
library  table,  as  usual  of  an  evening.  I  said  the 
large  library  table  ;  Mrs.  Oldham  thought  it  too 
large,  and  besides  she  disliked  the  shape  of  it.  It 
was  a  square-cornered  oblong  table,  and  she  would 
have  preferred  it  to  be  oval.  The  Doctor,  I  know, 
secretly  agreed  with  her  ;  at  least  he  came  to  be  of 
the  same  way  of  thinking  after  she  had  expressed 
her  opinion — a  thing  he  was  very  apt  to  do.  But 


2  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

he  had  not  frankly  confessed  his  whole  mind  to  her 
about  it ;  he  had  only  told  her  that  the  oval  shape 
might  perhaps  have  looked  better,  without  much 
diminishing  the  size  of  it,  which  he  had  all  along 
insisted  was  no  larger  than  it  ought  to  be  to  give 
room  for  them  all  to  sit  around  it — a  point  he  had 
set  his  heart  on  from  the  beginning. 

The  truth  was,  Mrs.  Oldham,  with  her  homely, 
honest  way  of  speaking  out  her  mind,  had  hurt  the 
Doctor's  feelings,  without  knowing  it  or  intending 
it.  But  she  had  hurt  them  weeks  before,  the  very 
first  time  she  saw  the  table.  And  this  was  the  way 
of  it. 

The  Doctor  had  set  his  heart  on  having  a  Li 
brary  table,  truly  and  properly  such,  a  table  for  a 
library,  one  to  hold  books,  one  that  would  allow  a 
good  many  books  to  lie  on  it,  and  large  enough  for 
all  the  family  to  sit  around  it,  and  read  and  write 
without  interfering  with  each  other,  with  room  be 
sides  for  any  friend  that  might  chance  to  drop  in 
upon  them.  Such  was  his  ideal  of  a  library  table. 
He  had  long  indulged  his  mind's  eye  with  the 
pleasing  image.  It  had  grown,  in  fact,  to  be  a 
weakness  of  his,  something  that  he  in  a  sort  doted 
on  realizing  some  day.  So  he  had  gone  and  be 
spoken  it  six  months  before  the  library  was  finished 


AT     GREYSTONES.  3 

and  ready  to  receive  it,  before  indeed  the  founda 
tions  of  the  newly-built  part  of  Greystones  were  laid. 
He  had  ordered  it  to  be  made  six  feet  long  and 
three  feet  wide,  going  only  by  the  image  in  his 
mind's  eye,  and  guessing  even  at  the  dimensions 
of  that  without  having  ever  measured  and  noted 
any  actual  table  of  such  a  width  and  length.  He 
had  done  so  too  without  consulting  Mrs.  Oldham, 
which  was  something  very  unusual  with  him  ;  for 
he  had  a  high  opinion  of  her  good  sense.  Indeed 
he  was  wont  to  say,  that  in  point  of  practical  wis 
dom  ho  thought  his  wife  very  much  his  superior  ; 
but  in  the  faculty  of  seeing  through  a  speculative 
millstone  without  any  hole  in  it,  he  did  not  scruple 
to  say  he  did  not  consider  her  so  highly  gifted  as 
Jeremy  Bent-ham  or  himself.  This  matter  of  the 
library  table  was  undoubtedly  a  practical  affair,  the 
getting  it  made  at  least,  and  yet,  owing,  he  sup 
posed,  to  the  pre-occupation  of  his  mind  with  his 
ideal,  he  had  neglected  to  secure  her  advice  and 
sanction,  I  mean  as  to  its  exact  form  and  dimen 
sions — for  he  had  told  her,  in  a  general  and  passing 
way,  that  he  was  going  to  have  a  library  table 
made — but  as  she  made  no  particular  inquiries,  not 
imagining  it  was  to  be  ordered  so  long  beforehand, 
it  happened  that  nothing  more  was  said. 


4  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

So  the  table  was  made  and  brought  home  and 
set  in  its  place.  Mrs.  Oldhani  looked  at  it  for  a 
moment  or  two,  and  then  said  : 

"  Husband,  I  don't  like  it.  It  is  too  large,  and 
the  shape  of  it  doesn't  please  me.  Altogether,  it 
looks  like  a  table  for  a  bank  parlor  or  for  an  insur 
ance  office." 

Dear  woman  !  She  little  thought  how  inwardly 
aghast  her  words  struck  the  Doctor.  In  the  placid 
sincerity  of  her  womanly  and  wifely  heart,  there 
was  the  most  perfect,  and  at  the  same  time  per 
fectly  unreflected  and  unconscious  confidence  in  the 
impossibility  of  her  saying  anything,  or  of  his  tak 
ing  anything  she  could  say,  in  any  other  than  a 
kindly  spirit.  So  she  had  spoken  as  she  felt,  with 
out  thinking  of  it  even  as  a  matter  in  which  there 
might  be  a  difference  of  taste  between  them,  still 
less  dreaming  that  she  was  giving  him  pain.  She 
knew  nothing  of  his  visions  and  his  images.  She 
did  not  know  this  table  was  his  realized  ideal. 
She  knew  nothing  of  all  he  had  been  dreaming 
about  so  long,  and  which  of  late,  as  the  time  of 
fulfilment  drew  near,  had  so  filled  his  mind's  eye. 
He  had  never  told  her  ;  although  he  is  one  of  the 
most  open-hearted  persons  I  ever  knew,  and  com 
municative  to  a  fault,  as  his  wife  often  told  him, 


AT    GREYSTONES.  5 

and  as  he  himself  has  had  too  many  occasions  to  "be 
conscious  of,  when  he  has,  in  his  frank,  confiding 
way,  laid  himself  open  to  the  stupid,  the  brutal,  or 
the  malicious.  Yet  he  had  never  told  anybody, 
not  even  her.  You  may  think  this  strange,  but  I 
do  not.  On  the  contrary,  I  think  it  altogether 
natural ;  for  always  in  your  dreaming,  speculative 
natures,  like  the  Doctor's,  there  are  some  cherished 
fancies  which,  with  all  their  frankness  and  unre 
serve,  they  are  shy  of  revealing  to  any  human  crea 
ture — from  a  half  consciousness  of  their  weakness 
about  them  and  their  inability  to  bear  any  exposure 
of  it  to  the  unsympathetic,  and  yet  an  instinctive 
sense  of  the  impossibility  of  anybody  but  them 
selves  fully  sympathizing  with  them.  You  may 
think  this  an  over  deep  and  wise  lesson  in  human 
nature  to  bring  in  here  to  explain  such  a  trifling 
thing  as  the  Doctor's  not  telling  his  wife  his  secret 
fancies  about  a  table.  But  it  is  a  true  lesson,  and 
one  that  everybody  ought  to  learn  ;  one  that  will 
explain  a  great  many  other  things  besides  the  Doc 
tor's  silence  ;  and  you  ought  to  be  thankful  for  a 
lesson  of  wisdom,  however  trivial  the  occasion  that 
leads  me  to  give  it  to  you. 

But  so  it  was,  the  Doctor  had  never  told  even 
his  wife, — not,  of  course,  from  any  deliberate  pur- 


6  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

pose  of  concealment,  but  unconsciously,  from  the 
influence  of  the  feeling  I  have  mentioned  ;  and  so 
she  could  not  know  what  she  was  trampling  upon. 
She  would  not  have  hurt  his  feelings  for  the  world. 
But  she  had.  She  had  demolished  his  ideal ;  she 
had  shattered  his  vision.  He  could  not  stand  up 
against  her  opinion.  He  never  could  in  such  mat 
ters.  He  had  never  been  able  all  the  time  they 
had  lived  together  to  think  right  well  of  anything 
that  did  not  suit  her  taste. 

But  now  the  shock  was  great.  He  could  not 
bring  himself  to  show  how  much  he  was  wounded. 
He  tried  to  hold  up.  He  even  defended  his  vilified 
ideal. 

"  Too  large,  my  dear  ?  Why,  it  is  only  large 
enough  for  us  all  to  sit  about  it  of  an  evening  in 
that  comfortable  pleasant  way,  which  I  am  sure 
you  think  so  nice.  Besides,  see  here  !  "  turning  her 
attention  away  from  the  size  of  the  table,  "here 
are  six  drawers,  one  for  each  of  us,  three  on  one 
side  and  three  on  the  other.  This  one  is  for  me  ; 
that  opposite  is  yours ;  here  is  Phil's ;  there 
Fred's ;  this  is  Lilly's ;  and  this  is  for  Cousin 
Kitty  when  she  comes.  It  is  so  pleasant  to  have 
one's  own  drawer  to  put  one's  things  into  which 
one  does  not  wish  to  leave  lying  on  the  table,  and 
yet  wants  to  have  always  near  at  hand." 


ATGREYSTONES.  7 

"  I  see/'  said  she,  taking  hold  of  her  drawer 
and  pulling  it  out,  "but,  husband,  your  six  draw 
ers  are  only  three,  each  of  them  running  through 
the  whole  width  of  the  table  and  drawing  out  on 
either  side.  See,  your  drawer  and  mine  are  only 
one  drawer  with  a  partition  across  the  middle  and 
knobs  on  both  ends ;  so,  when  you  open  your 
drawer  on  your  side  of  the  table,  you  draw  mine 
after  it  out  of  my  reach.  What  shall  we  do  if  we 
both  wish  to  use  our  drawers  at  the  same  time  ?  " 

"  Do  ?  "  said  the  Doctor,  disconcerted  at  this 
new  discovery  to  the  discredit  of  his  ideal,  "  do  ? 
do  ?  Well,  my  dear/7  pinching  his  nose  between 
the  thumb  and  forefinger  of  his  left  hand,  his  usual 
resource  in  such  cases,  "  I  do  not  know  that  I  can 
tell  you  what  we  must  do.  But  I  can  tell  you 
what  we  must  not  do.  We  must  not  do  what  you 
and  I  have  always  done  hitherto." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"Pull  together,  my  dear.  We  have  always 
pulled  together.  But  it  will  not  do  for  us  to  pull 
our  drawers  together.  We  must  pull  them  in  the 
spirit  of  compromise,  in  the  spirit  of  mutual  com 
promise,  my  dear  Mrs.  Oldham,  and  then  this  very 
peculiarity  in  the  make  of  our  drawers, — a  pecu 
liarity  for  which  I  confess  I  do  not  see  any  good 


8  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

mechanical  reason — will  become,  I  will  not  say  a 
memento  to  the  practice  of  a  virtue  which  even 
prudence,  in  a  case  like  this,  would  dictate  to 
merely  selfish  natures,  but  will  become — as  all  out 
ward  things,  however  trivial,  do  become  to  right 
loving  hearts  —  a  sermon  and  a  sacrament  of 
divines t  charity/' 

The  Doctor  paused,  inwardly  elated  with  the 
gentle  excitement  of  his  small  sermon.  The  justice 
of  his  wife's  objection  was  palpable,  and  there  was 
not  a  single  compensating  advantage.  But  he  did 
not  like  to  own  that  the  drawers  were  made  in  this 
absurd  way  by  his  own  special  direction,  from  a 
notion  they  would  be  handier — a  notion  he  had  got, 
not  from  ever  actually 'seeing  and  handling  any  real 
drawers  made  in  this  fashion,  but  solely  from  con 
templating  the  idea-image  in  his  mind's  eye. 

He  was  glad  to  get  off  from  the  subject.  But 
the  truth  is  that,  from  this  time, 

.     .     .     .     The  glory  and  the  gleam, 
The  consecration  and  the  poet's  dream, 

began  to  fade  from  his  realized  ideal.  He  began 
to  see  his  table  through  his  wife's  eyes.  At  length 
every  time  he  looked  at  the  long  square-cornered 


AT     GR  E  Y  ST  ONES.' 

thing,  with  its  shining  bronze  imitation  leather  top, 
he  saw  it  was  not  the  thing  he  ought  to  have  or 
dered.  It  was  too  large  for  the  room,  though  he 
was  still  sure  it  was  not  too  large  for  them  all  to 
sit  at  together  ;  still,  as  a  matter  of  proportion  and 
good  looks,  it  was  too  large  ;  its  shape  was  bad  : 
and  it  looked  too  much  like  a  "  bank  table  " — he 
could  not  but  confess  it  to  himself,  although  he 
had  felt  that  to  be  the  unkindest  cut  in  his  wife's 
speech.  He  could  not  but  secretly  think  how  much 
better  a  nicely  proportioned  oval  table,  with  a  rich 
cloth  cover  of  suitable  color,  would  look. 

But  he  had  never  brought  himself  to  acknowl 
edge  it  to  her  in  a  full,  frank  way,  before  this  even 
ing  ;  because  it  was  only  this  evening  that  he  had 
got  fairly  over  the  chagrin  and  soreness  of  having 
the  glory  so  torn  from  the  vision  of  his  long 
dreams.  But  to  night  he  felt  no  difficulty  in  mak 
ing  the  admission. 

"  Mrs.  Oldham,  my  dear,"  said  he,  as  they  were 
drawing  up  to  the  table,  "  you  were  right.  This  is 
not  the  table  we  should  have  had.  It  is  too  large. 
It  is  not  the  right  shape.  It  does  look  too  much 
like  a  bank  table." 

"  Husband,"  said  she,  in  her  kind  placid  voice — 
there  was  no  triumph,  no  gratified  vanity  in  her  tone 
l* 


10  DOCTOROLDHAM 

or  look,  any  more  thairin  her  honest  heart — "hus 
band,  you  had  better  have  consulted  me  before  get 
ting  it  made." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,  my  dear/'  answered  the  Doc 
tor,  "  you  are  an  oracle  of  practical  wisdom,  Mrs. 
Oldham  ;  I  never  neglect  to  obtain  your  advice  and 
sanction  in  any  matter  of  affairs,  without  finding  rea 
son  to  regret  it  in  the  end.  But  my  forethoughts, 
you  know,  are  very  much  like  the  Irishman's  :  they 
come  afterwards.  I  am  as  full  of  notions  as  a  Yan 
kee,  and  as  eager  and  incautious  in  realizing  them 
as  an  Irishman,  or,  as  my  friend  Idleman  calls  me, 
a  very  '  sanguinary  man/  I  have  done  many  hasty 
things  in  my  life  that  I  repented  of  when  they  were 
past  help.  But  there  is  one  thing  I  have  never  re 
pented  of." 

"  What  is  that,  husband  ?  " 

"Offering  myself  to  you,  Mrs.  Oldham.  You 
have  been  my  good  angel,  my  dear." 

Mrs.  Oldham's  cheeks — still  ruddy  and  round, 
though  nearly  a  score  of  years  had  passed  away 
since  the  event  to  which  the  Doctor  referred — her 
matronly  cheeks  flushed  slightly  at  this  speech  of 
her  husband's  ;  the  more  perhaps  that  not  only  the 
children  and  cousin  Kitty  were  present,  but  also 
Maggie  Crampton,  who  had  come  up  from  town  on 


ATGKEYSTONES.  11 

a  visit,  and  was  sitting  at  the  moment  between  the 
Doctor  and  her. 

He  went  on,  however  : 

"  But,  in  regard  to  this  table,  you  do  not  know 
what  a  shock  you  inflicted  upon  me.     I  have  reason 
to  say  to  you,  as  the  great  Sir  Isaac  Newton  said  to 
his   dog    Diamond,    '0  Diamond,  Diamond,  thou 
little  knowest  what  harm  thou  hast  done  me  ! " 
"  Bless  me,  husband,  what  have  I  done  ?  " 
"  Shattered  my  ideal." 
"  Shattered  your  what  ?  " 

"  My  ideal,  the  vision  of  my  mind.  It  is  all  in 
fragments.  And  the  mischief  you  have  done  me, 
my  dear,  is  not  like  that  which  Diamond  did  his 
master.  That  great  philosopher  could  collect  the 
scattered  fragments  and  reproduce  what  Diamond 
had  destroyed.  But  my  ideal  is  irretrievable — it  is 
shattered  and  lost  forever." 

"  My  dear  husband,"  said  she,  in  a  pitying  tone, 
"  I  am  so  sorry  for  your  shattered  ideal.  But  we 
will  have  a  new  and  more  beautiful  one  by  and  by. 
But  indeed  I  do  believe,"  she  added,  seeing  the 
smallest  trace  of  a  twinkle  in  the  Doctor's  eye, 
"  you  are  not  sorry  at  all  that  you  got  so  ugly  a 
table  made,  seeing  it  has  given  you  a  chance  to  talk 
so  much  nonsense." 


12  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

"Nonsense,  my  dear,"  said  he,  "I  hope  you 
think  it  charming  nonsense.  I  trust  you  have  a 
proper  esteem  for  nonsense.  It  has  in  it  the  soul 
of  the  deepest  wisdom.  Like  the  motley  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  it  often  covers  up  more  wit  and  sense 
than  the  knight's  helmet,  the  earl's  cap  of  mainte 
nance,  or  the  abbot's  mitre.  I  declare  to  you  some 
of  the  most  solemn  wise  things  I  ever  read  have 
not  seldom  seemed  to  me  the  most  painfully  foolish 
or  the  most  ridiculously  absurd  things  in  the  world, 
while  on  the  other  hand,  many  things  that  Mrs. 
Slender  thought  very  foolish,  Miss  Prim  quite  im 
proper,  and  Doctor  Kigid  highly  irreverent,  have 
been  to  me  the  most  charming  lessons  of  virtue  and 
religion,  the  purest  goodness  and  the  holiest  wor 
ship,  as  full  of  pathos  as  of  fun,  making  me  laugh 
and  making  me  cry,  and  making  me  better  by  both 
operations,  filling  my  heart  with  more  love  to  God 
and  man  than  a  dozen  of  Doctor  Selah  Solemn's 
Sermons  on  Sanctity,  or  Mrs.  Softly's  Serious 
Thoughts." 

"  What  would  become  of  us,  my  dear,"  he  con 
tinued,  "  if  all  the  books  that  Mrs.  Slender  thinks 
foolish,  Miss  Prim  improper,  and  Doctor  Kigid  ir 
reverent,  were  banished  from  the  world  ; — no  more 
Mother  Goose's  Melodies,  nor  the  tragical  fate  of 


AT    GKEYSTONES.  13 

Cock  Robin,  nor  the  immoral  exploits  of  Puss  in 
Boots,  nor  the  mournful  tale  of  Little  Bopeep's 
Sheep's  Tails,  nor  the  story  of  the  Three  Bears 
with  their  three  porridge  pots  and  chairs  and  beds, 
and  the  mysterious  old  woman  that  got  in  at  their 
door  and  out  at  their  bedroom  window,  and  has 
never  been  heard  of  since, — no  more  these  and  a 
thousand  other  nonsensical  stories  of  foolish  impos 
sibilities  for  the  little  people  to  laugh  over,  and 
weep  over,  and  wonder  over  ;  and  no  more  Rabelais 
with  his  Pantagruel  and  Panurge,  Cervantes  with 
his  Knight  and  Squire,  Shakespeare  with  his  more 
talkers  of  wise  nonsense  than  I  can  name  here  ;  no 
more  Uncle  Toby  and  Corporal  Trim ;  no  more  Doc 
tor  Primrose  and  Moses,  nor  Elia,  nor  Doctor  Dove, 
nor  Diedrick  Knickerbocker,  nor  Mr.  Sparrowgrass, 
for  the  delight  of  old  folks  and  young  folks  both  ;— 
but  all  these,  and  hundreds  of  others,  great  like 
these  in  nonsense,  done  away  with  from  the  face  of 
the  earth,  gone  from  human  memory,  and  nothing 
left  for  the  young  people  but  Mrs.  Sweet's  Infant 
Hymns,  and  Professor  Savethought's  Great  Things 
made  Small,  and  nothing  for  the  older  folks  but 
Dr.  Solernn's  Sermons  and  Mrs.  Softly's  Serious 
Thoughts  !  Think  of  it,  my  dear  Mrs.  Oldham  ! 
I  really  do  not  believe  it  would  be  good  for  the 
world." 


14  DOCTOROLDHAM 

The  Doctor  paused,  quite  affected  by  the  pic 
ture  he  had  drawn. 

"  But,  husband/'  said  Mrs.  Oldham,  "  it  is  not 
every  one  that  can  see  the  soul  of  wisdom  and 
goodness  in  those  books  of  nonsense  as  well  as  you 
can,  and  therefore  we  ought  to  be  glad  there  are 
such  writings  as  Doctor  Solemn's  Sermons  and 
Mrs.  Softly's  Serious  Thoughts." 

"True,  my  dear,  true/'  replied  the  Doctor, 
"  but  let  us  also  honor  wise  and  holy  nonsense." 


CHAPTER  II. 

WHICH  GROWS  OUT  OF  THE  INARTISTIC  WAT  THIS  BOOK  BEGAN;  BUT 
GIVES  THE  AUTHOR  A  CHANCE  TO  SPEAK  OF  THE  COURTEOUS 
READER  OF  THE  LAST  AGE  ;  AND  ALSO  TO  EXPLAIN  HIMSELF  TO 
THE  COURTEOUS  READER  OF  THE  PRESENT  DAY. 

WHAT  a  fine  old  personage  was  the  "  Courteous 
Header "  for  whom  the  writers  of  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries  wrote  their  books.  How 
delightful  the  image  or  EIDOLON  of  him  that  rises 
before  the  mind's  eye,  as  we  notice  in  the  writings 
of  that  time  the  thousand  little  tokens  of  thorough 
good  understanding  and  mutual  respect  between 
the  author  and  his  reader.  The  picture  is  as 
distinct  and  agreeable  as  that  of  Sir  Koger  de 
Coverley  :  and  we  feel  a  positive  regard  for  him 
such  as  we  cannot  help  feeling  for  the  good  old 
Knight — who  was  himself  undoubtedly  one  of  the 
most  courteous  of  the  courteous  readers  of  his 
day. 

I  trust  the  generation  of  them  is  not  extinct, 


16  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

although  I  do  not  so  often  perceive  them  to  be 
expressly  addressed  in  the  books  of  our  day  :  but 
this,  I  would  fain  believe,  is  owing  only  to  that 
same  change  in  the  fashion  and  manner  of  the 
times  which  makes  the  polite  forms  of  social  inter 
course  to  be  so  much  more  brief  and  simple,  and 
causes  so  much  to  be  now  tacitly  taken  for  granted 
in  the  way  of  courteous  and  kindly. feeling  which 
it  was  the  custom  to  give  ample  and  ceremonious 
expression  to  in  those  days. 

So  I  am  apt  to  think.  Why  not  ?  Does  any 
body  imagine  Sir  Koger  de  Coverley  to  be  dead  ? 
I  for  one  will  never  believe  it.  You  will  not  indeed 
find  him  in  the  same  fashion  of  dress,  nor  journey 
ing  along  the  road  in  the  same  way,  nor  with  the 
same  accidents  of  position  and  circumstance  ;  but 
putting  out  of  view  the  different  way  in  which 
modern  tailors  make  up  men,  and  the  different 
modes  of  travelling — all  the  accidents  of  the  case, 
I  am  bold  to  say  that  every  body  has  met  him 
more  than  once  on  the  steamboats  and  in  the  rail 
way  cars  ;  some  perhaps  without  knowing  him,  but 
some  of  us  know  him  well — have  been  out  in  fact 
at  his  house,  and  found  him  the  same  personage,  as 
fresh  and  delightful  as  ever,  the  same  charming 
mixture  of  benevolence,  old-fashioned  politeness, 


AT     GBEYS  TONES.  17 

simplicity,  charity,  and  love  of  country  life  and 
country  pleasures. 

And  if  the  good  Knight  is  yet  alive,  why  should 
we  doubt  that  the  courteous  readers  are  yet  alive  ? 
So  I  am  determined  to  believe,  and  that  this  im 
mortal  work  will  find  such  readers.  There  is  some 
thing  so  pleasant  and  mutually  honorable  to  the 
author  and  his  readers,  something  so  creditable 
to  human  nature  in  the  very  terms.  Courteous 
Header  !  it  expresseth  the  propriety  of  the  rela 
tionship  between  the  parties.  It  expresseth  espe 
cially  the  quality  of  moral  fitness  on  the  part  of  a 
reader  to  be  a  reader.  By  what  other  title  can  he 
claim  ?  The  author  taketh  pains,  doth  his  best 
(it  is  surely  seemly  always  so  to  presume),  to  inform 
or  instruct,  convince,  persuade,  entertain,  or  amuse 
. — in  short,  in  some  form  to  confer  benefit  or 
pleasure  or  both  upon  his  reader.  A  courteous 
reception  is  therefore  his  due.  It  is  unfit  in  itself, 
and  it  is  unbefitting  in  you  to  withhold  it.  As 
the  boor  that  passeth  on  with  his  cap  unlifted  and 
untouched,  in  churlish  disregard  of  the  gentle  lady 
that  biddeth  him  good-morrow,  so  is  the  reader 
that  cometh  not  to  the  perusal  of  a  book  in  a  can 
did  and  kindly  temper. 

A  book  therefore — always  supposing  it  to  be 
written,  as  every  book  should  be,  in  an  honest  spirit 


18  DOCTOR     OLD  HAM 

and  for  a  worthy  end — a  book  and  a  courteous 
reader  are  cognate  conceptions  that  should  be  as 
inseparable  as  gentleness  and  a  lady,  gallantry  and 
a  knight,  honor  and  a  gentleman.  To  put  them 
asunder  implies  a  contradiction. 

I  have  been  led  into  saying  all  this  because  I 
am  sensible  that  I  have  begun  this  book  in  a  way 
that  makes  some  demand  upon  the  courtesy  of  the 
reader.  I  have  not  begun  at  the  beginning — 
which  is  the  order  of  nature  ;  nor  at  the  end ; 
although  that  is  a  very  possible  way  to  write  a 
book  with  good  effect,  and  certainly  it  is  an  excel 
lent  way  with  some  books  that  are  printed  to  be 
read  from  beginning  to  end,  to  read  them  back 
wards  from  end  to  beginning — a  thing  I  shall  not 
quarrel  with  any  reader  for  doing  with  this  book  if 
ever  it  come  to  an  end,  but  rather  advise  ;  nor  have 
I  begun  in  the  middle  of  things,  which  is  recom 
mended  in  some  cases. 

Now  if  any  one  should  come  blustering  up  to 
me  with  an  insolent  air  and  a  menacing  tone,  and 

demand  to  know  why  the mischief  I  opened 

my  book  with  that  chapter  on  the  Library  Table 
before  saying  any  thing  about  the  house,  and  where 
it  was,  and  who  and  what  Doctor  Oldham  was, — 
in  short  why  I  didn't  begin  at  the  beginning,  I 
should  know  the  man  was  not  a  courteous  reader ; 


AT     GREYS  TONES.  19 

and  I  should  decline  giving  him  my  reasons  upon 
such  compulsion.  But  to  those  truly  courteous 
readers,  who,  taking  properly  for  granted  that  I 
have  very  good  reasons,  may  be  desirous  at  this 
stage  to  know  what  they  are,  I  am  cheerfully  ready 
to  explain  myself. 

I  did  not  then  begin  at  the  beginning,  because 
when  I  began  I  did  not  know  where  the  beginning 
was. 

I  did  not  begin  at  the  end,  because  I  was 
equally  ignorant  when,  where,  and  how  it  would 
end,  and  am  so  still. 

I  did  not  begin  in  the  middle,  as  Horace  ad 
vises,  because  that  is  the  rule  for  an  Epic  story, 
and  my  book  is  neither  an  Epic  nor  a  story. 

So  much  for  the  reasons  why  I  did  not  begin 
otherwise  than  as  I  did. 

Now  for  the  reason  why  I  did  begin  as  I  did  : 
I  put  that  chapter  on  the  Library  Table  first,  be 
cause  I  wrote  it  first,  and  for  no  other  reason  that 
I  am  aware  of. 

"  But  may  I  ask,  sir,  why  you  wrote  it  first  ?  " 

You  may,  courteous  reader,  but  that  is  a  point 
on  which  I  can  give  you  no  satisfaction  ;  for  I  am 
as  ignorant  as  yourself. 


20  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 


CHAPTER   III. 

WHICH  COMES  BETWEEN  THE  LAST  CHAPTER  AND  THE  NEXT  ONE. — 
THE  READER  MAY  OMIT  IF  HE  WILL  ;  BUT  HE  WILL  LOSE  SOME 
THING  IF  HE  DOES. 

So  it  is  ;  one  thing  engenders  or  draws  after  it 
another — be  it  debt,  or  blow,  or  word.  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  displease  all  orderly  straight-going  people  ; 
but  it  is  the  penalty  of  my  first  false  step.  Not 
beginning  at  the  beginning,  I  involved  myself  in 
the  necessity  of  writing  that  intermediate  chapter 
in  order  to  tell  the  courteous  reader  how  I  came  to 
make  the  mistake,  and  to  speak  him  fair.  And 
that  leads  to  another  chapter ;  for  it  leads  to  some 
other  things  that  ought  to  be  said.  I  might  insert 
them  in  the  middle  of  the  last  chapter,  cutting  it 
open  as  they  do  steamers  when  they  lengthen  them. 
But  there's  the  trouble  of  it ;  and,  besides,  such 
things  are  mostly  weak-backed  and  apt  to  break. 
So  what  remains  to  be  said  had  best  be  put  into  a 
chapter  by  itself,  only  let  me  first  take  occasion  to 


ATGREYSTONES.  21 

warn  my  young  readers  to  remember  what  conse 
quences  are  often  entailed  by  a  single  false  step. 
As  with  two  straight  lines  starting  from  the  same 
point  with  an  angle  of  divergence  infmitesimally 
small.  .  .  .  .  .  «  • 

"  But,  sir,  will  you  not  be  so  kind  as  to  pro 
ceed  at  once  to  the  explanation  of  the  things  pre 
sumed  in  your  first  chapter,  and  then  go  on  with 
the  story  ?  " 

0  courteous  reader — for  such  I  will  count  you, 
although  your  tone  is  the  least  in  the  world  per 
emptory — you  are  also  an  impatient  reader  ;  and 
in  this  very  quality  you  may  see  the  fitness  of 
something  further  to  be  said  in  order  that  there 
may  be  a  right  understanding  between  us,  and  that 
we  may  then  go  on  with  mutual  pleasure,  as  those 
who  wish  to  go  the  same  road  and  wish  to  go  to 
gether,  or  else  part  company  as  those  who,  meeting 
on  the  highway,  yet  bound  to  different  points,  hold 
common  course  for  a  brief  space  with  courteous 
interchange  of  greeting  and  remark,  until  the  next 
fork  of  the  road  obliging  them  to  separate,  they 
take  leave  of  each  other  with  mutual  respect  and 
good  will. 

Let  me  then  put  you  right  as  to  the  character 
of  this  immortal  work,  that  you  may  no  longer  talk 


22  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

about  "getting  on  with,  the  story."  Kemember, 
I  have  said  it  is  not  a  story  at  all.  It  certainly  is 
not,  in  any  proper  sense  of  the  word.  There  is 
next  to  nothing  of  story  in  it  ;  and  what  little  there 
is,  is  there  for  the  sake  of  the  book,  and  not  the 
book  for  the  sake  of  the  story — a  literary  distinc 
tion  I  trust  you  will  not  fail  to  note.  The  book  is 
a  record  of  talk  at  Greystones — the  talk  of  Doctor 
Oliver  Oldham.  His  wife  may  say  something  ;  his 
friends  may  chance  to  get  in  a  word  now  and  then, 
but  the  talk  will  be  mostly  the  Doctor's,  which 
you  may  take  to  be  specially  implied  in  the  mystic 
monogram  : 


It  is  to  be  the  0.  0.  book  ;  not  the  double 
nothing  book,  nor  the  double  odd  book,  but  the 
Oliver  Oldham  book — a  book  full  of  the  Doctor — 
a  book  of  thought ;  for  the  Doctor  is  always  think 
ing  as  well  as  talking  ;  and  I  shall  have  to  set 
down  his  thoughts  on  all  sorts  of  subjects — books 
and  things,  men,  manners,  life,  art,  morals,  politics, 
and  religion. 


AT     GREYS  TONES.  23 

"  Story,  God  bless  you,  I  have  none  to  tell," 
as  the  ' -needy  knife-grinder'  said.  You  will  find 
it  much  more  a  book  of  sermons  than  a  story. 
Yery  queer  sermons,  too,  I  dare  say  you  may  think 
some  of  them  ;  many  things  in  them  which  Doctor 
Shallow  and  Miss  Prim  will  pronounce  very  non 
sensical  and  foolish,  or  very  irreverent  and  shock 
ing  ;  and  some  things,  I  am  afraid,  which  the  Phari 
sees,  Sadducees,  and  Herodians,  will  all  join  in  vehe 
ment  abuse  of ;  but  nothing  for  all  that  which  is 
not  true  and  salutary  to  those  who  know  how  to 
receive  it — as  all  truth  always  is.  There  will  be 
things  solemn,  and  things  facetious,  and  things  out 
of  the  common  way  :  but  I  should  not  be  at  the 
pains  to  put  them  down,  if  I  did  not  think  they 
would  be  read  with  pleasure  and  profit  by  all  the 
people  of  my  parish — the  good  and  the  wise,  both 
those  that  are  grave  and  those  that  are  gay,  and 
especially  those  that  are  both  by  turns,  or  (which 
is  best  but  rarest  of  all)  those  that  are  both  at 
once  ;  and  if  I  did  not  also  hope  they  would  help 
the  young  to  some  right  notions,  free  them  from 
some  conventional  delusions,  cants,  and  shams,  and 
set  up  some  landmarks  of  truth  and  righteousness 
in  the  great  realm  of  thought. 

Do   not,   therefore,    0    curious   and   impatient 


24  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

reader,  talk  of  story  ;  neither  be  over  eager  for  ex 
planations  concerning  the  library  that  contained 
the  table,  and  the  house  that  contained  the  library, 
and  the  Doctor,  who  arid  what  he  is  that  built  the 
house  that  contained  the  library,  etc.,  etc.  Ee- 
member  the  House  that  Jack  built,  and  remember, 
too,  the  sonnet  that  Coleridge  made  on  it  (after  it 
fell  to  ruins),  showing  how  small  things  may  be 
made  grand  by  big  words  and  a  sounding  style — as 
may  also  be  seen  in  the  sermons  of  many  of  the 
popular  preachers  of  the  day. 

Here's  the  sonnet  : 


And  this  reft  house  is  that  the  which  he  built, 

Lamented  Jack !  and  here  his  malt  he  piled. 

Cautious  in  vain !  these  rats  that  squeak  so  wild, 

Squeak  not  unconscious  of  their  fathers'  guilt. 

Did  he  not  see  her  gleaming  through  the  glade ! 

Belike  'twas  she,  the  maiden  all  forlorn, 

What  though  she  milk  no  cow  with  crumpled  horn, 

Yet  aye  she  haunts  the  dale  where  erst  she  strayed, 

Arid  aye  beside  her  stalks  her  amorous  knight! 

Still  on  his  thighs  their  wonted  brogues  are  worn, 

And  through  those  brogues,  still  tatter'd  and  betorn, 

His  hindward  charms  gleam  an  unearthly  white. 

Ah !  thus  through  broken  clouds  at  night's  high  noon, 

Peeps  in  fair  fragments  forth  the  full  orb'd  harvest  moon ! 


Thank  me  for  this  sonnet  :  or  if  not  thankful 
for  it  for  yourself,  try  to  be  thankful  I  have  put  it 


ATGKEYSTONES.  25 

here  for  those  who  will  be  glad  to  see  it,  and  you 
may  he  sure  there  are  some  such. 

You  ought  to  thank  me  too  for  the  moral  lesson 
I  was  going  to  draw  from  those  two  straight  lines 
which  you  cut  off.  You  cut  short  a  homily  which 
in  the  compass  of  a  page  would  have  contained 
more  matter  for  profit  to  my  young  and  thoughtful 
readers,  than  the  whole  six  volumes  of  Professor 
Stickinbark's  Theological  Lectures,  or  all  the  Kev- 
erend  Calvin  Grim's  awful  sermons. 

And  believe  me,  0  impatient  reader,  that  I 
never  turn  aside  from  what  seems  to  you  the 
straight  road,  nor  ever  pause  or  linger  on  my  way, 
without  good  reason, — sometimes  for  my  own 
pleasure  or  convenience,  but  mostly  with  a  view  to 
some  special  pleasure  or  advantage  which  others 
will  find,  if  you  do  not.  Kemember  there  are 
others  besides  thyself,  and  of  more  patient  mood. 
Why  should  the  universe  be  all  made  over  again  to 
suit  thy  humor  ?  Why  all  the  world  be  put  going 
sixty  miles  an  hour  upon  an  air-line  railway  to 
accommodate  thy  restless  nerves  ?  Why  all  old 
country  roads  destroyed, — no  more  lanes  and  by 
ways,  no  zig-zags,  no  turnings  .and  windings,  no 
resting  places,  no  summer-houses,  nor  rustic  seats 
under  spreading  chestnut  or  gnarled  oak  beside  the 


26  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

gurgling  brook  ?  Is  this  fliir  ?  Is  it  reasonable  ? 
Is  it  not  rather  the  height  of  selfishness  ?  Curb, 
then,  this  chafing  spirit ;  think  more  of  others  and 
less  of  yourself.  And  if  you  find  no  pleasure  in 
these  intermediate  chapters,  try  to  be  glad  that 
there  are  those  that  will :  so  shall  you  yourself  get 
a  gain  of  inestimable  value  from  this  very  trial  of 
your  patience. 

As  to  the  rest,  let  me  assure  you  that  while  the 
main  interest  of  this  work  will  be  in  what  the 
Doctor  says,  you  may  look  for  all  needful  explana 
tions  sooner  or  later  in  the  coming  chapters  con 
cerning  the  Doctor  himself,  his  personal  life,  and 
outward  circumstances. 


AT     GREYSTONES.  27 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE   LIBRARY   NOT    MADE    FOR    THE    TABLE. — THE    RECESS    THAT   WAS 

NOT   REALIZED    AND     THE    WINDOW    THAT    WAS. THE    LIBRARY   AS 

FINISHED. — DOCTOR     OLDHAM'S     OPINION    ABOUT     GOOD     COMPANY. 
HE    QUOTES    DOCTOR    SOUTHEY   AND   DISCOURSES   ABOUT    HIM. 

THE  Library,  as  well  as  the  table,  was  a  long- 
cherislied  ideal  of  the  Doctor's,  on  which  he  had 
set  his  heart  even  more  than  on  the  table.  Indeed, 
he  always  asserted  that,  although  the  table  was 
made  first,  yet  it  was  made  for  the  library,  and  not 
the  library  for  it. 

In  giving  directions  for  the  library,  the  Doctor 
had,  as  in  the  matter  of  the  table,  gone  according 
to  the  long  looked-at  image  in  his  mind's  eye,  and 
in  the  same  way  of  guessing  at  the  dimensions  and 
other  details  ;  yet  some  of  the  disasters  almost  in 
evitably  resulting  from  the  difficulty  of  getting  the 
exact  measurement  of  spiritual  images  and  hitting 
their  proper  visible  effects,  were  prevented  in  this 
case  by  the  good  sense  of  Mrs.  Oldham,  who,  being 


28  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

on  the  spot  and  daily  consulted  by  the  Doctor  as 
the  work  went  on,  luckily  prevented  more  than  one 
of  his  images  from  getting  irretrievably  realized ; 
which,  however  well  they  might  look  in  an  ideal 
picture,  would  have  been  any  thing  but  satisfactory 
in  an  actual  room. 

It  was,  for  instance,  a  part  of  his  ideal  to  have 
a  large  recessed  window  at  the  east  end,  giving 
more  expression  to  the  room,  and  harmonizing  bet 
ter  with  the  west  end,  which  was  a  semi-octagon 
with  three  windows.  And  he  thought  he  had  an 
ingenious  contrivance  for  this  ;  but  Mrs.  Oldham, 
who  did  not  get  a  clear  notion  of  his  plan  until 
after  the  studs  for  the  recess  were  set,  pointed  out 
to  him  that  the  effect  of  it  would  be  to  give  them 
two  closets  which  they  did  not  need,  at  the  expense 
of  room  which  they  did  need.  So  he  gave  up  his 
contrivance  and  had  the  studs  taken  down. 

But  as  for  the  window,  it  was  too  late  to  alter 
that.  The  Doctor's  ideal  had  got  realized,  and  it 
was  certainly  a  mistake.  It  should  have  been  a 
window  with  three  compartments — a  wide  window 
in  the  middle,  and  a  narrower  one  on  each  side, 
separated  from  the  larger  one  by  mullions.  But  it 
was  made  with  only  two  compartments,  being  in 
fact  nothing  but  two  ordinary  windows  set  as  near 


AT     GREYS  TONES.  29 

each  other  as  they  could  be  put.  The  Doctor 
thought  it  looked  very  well  in  his  ideal  ;  but  when 
it  got  actually  made,  he  became  conscious  of  a 
secret  dissatisfaction  with  it,  which  he  would  not 
allow  himself  to  analyze  or  dwell  upon,  much  less 
breathe  a  word  of  to  his  wife.  He  hoped  indeed 
she  would  not  see  any  thing  to  condemn ;  but  he 
had  an  inward  dread  she  might :  for,  although  she 
had  no  eye  for  ideals,  her  observation  of  every  thing 
that  falls  within  the  scope  of  ordinary  sight  was 
very  quick ;  and,  moreover,  although  entirely  un 
conscious  of  it  herself,  she  had  a  wonderful  talent 
for  giving  exact  expression  to  any  secret  misgiving 
he  might  have,  and  of  suggesting  comparisons  dis 
creditable  to  his  ideals,  without  the  least  intention 
of  wounding  him. 

Mrs.  Oldham  had  been  unable  to  offer  any 
objection  to  the  window  while  it  was  in  its  ideal 
state,  notwithstanding  the  Doctor's  clearest  de 
scription  of  it,  for  the  reason,  as  I  have  said,  that 
she  had  no  eye  for  ideals.  But  as  soon  as  it  be 
came  sufficiently  real  to  be  visible  to  her,  she  said 
to  him : 

"  Husband,  I  don't  like  it.  It  looks  just  like  a 
shop-window." 

There  it  was  !     She  had  hit  the  very  secret  of 


30  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

liis  dissatisfaction  and  made  it  shockingly  palpable. 
He  could  no  longer  shut  his  eyes  to  it.  That  com 
parison,  too  !  It  was  just  putting  his  ideal  into  the 
pillory,  exposing  the  child  of  his  fancy  to  irretrieva 
ble  ignominy.  He  felt  it  acutely. 

"I  wish,  my  dear,"  he  collected  himself  at 
length  to  say,  "  I  wish  you  had  said  so  in  time  to 
have  had  it  made  different." 

"I  am  sure,"  she  replied,  "I  did  not  think  it 
was  going  to  look  so." 

"  I  think  it  would  perhaps  have  looked  better," 
said  he,  fishing  for  a  crumb  of  consolation,  "  if  we 
had  kept  to  the  original  plan  about  the  recess." 

"Husband,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Oldham,  "how 
would  that  have  altered  the  shape  of  the  win 
dow  ?  " 

The  Doctor  saw  she  thought  the  question 
unanswerable  ;  so  he  said  no  more. 

He  was  in  the  right,  however.  Even  the  put 
ting  up  of  the  bookcases  on  each  side  of  the  win 
dow  had  something  of  the  same  ameliorating  effect 
the  recess  would  have  had.  And  owing  partly  per 
haps  to  this,  and  partly  to  the  familiar  sight  of  it, 
the  window  soon  ceased  to  trouble  Mrs.  Oldham  ; 
and  the  Doctor  was  not  one  to  trouble  himself 
about  any  thing  that  did  not  trouble  his  wife.  He 


AT    G  KEYSTONES.  31 

had  a  favorite  dilemma  lie  was  very  fond  of  pro 
pounding,  to  the  effect  that  there  are  two  sorts  of 
things  a  wise  man  will  never  j;rouble  himself  about 
— namely,  those  which  he  can  help,  and  those 
which  he  cannot  help.  He  thought  it  an  infallible 
recipe  against  trouble  before  he  was  married ;  but 
since  that  event,  though  he  was  still  as  fond  as 
ever  of  propounding  it  to  his  friends,  yet  somehow 
he  had  not  the  same  faith  in  its  universal  efficacy, 
for  it  did  not  keep  him,  as  perfectly  as  it  should  do, 
from  being  troubled  at  his  wife's  troubles.  It  was 
therefore  fortunate  for  him — and  he  was  sensible 
of  it  as  a  great  blessing — that  she  was  not  prone  to 
have  troubles,  and  the  few  she  did  have  were  neither 
very  great  ones  nor  lasted  very  long. 

You  are  to  understand,  therefore,  that  on  the 
whole,  when  everything  was  completed,  the  Doctor 
and  his  wife  regarded  their  library  with  mutual 
satisfaction  and  content.  And  it  deserved  their 
regard  in  spite  of  the  window.  It  was  a  well- 
lighted  and  remarkably  cheerful  room,  fitted  up 
with  glazed  bookcases  on  all  sides  saving  the  spaces 
taken  up  by  the  windows  and  by  the  doors — one 
opening  from  the  hall,  and  the  other  into  the  Doc 
tor's  study.  The  whole  finishing  and  furnishing 
was  in  every  respect  studiously  simple  and  unpre- 


DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

tending ;  yet  every  thing  was  convenient,  and  the 
room  had  an  air  of  thorough  comfort  and  home 
enjoyment. 

This  was  precisely  the  expression  the  Doctor 
and  his  wife  wished  the  room  to  have  :  for,  though 
fitted  up  as  a  library,  it  was  designed  to  be  the 
living-room  of  the  family— and  their  drawing-room, 
too,  all  they  had  ;  there  being  no  proper  drawin^- 
room  at  Greystones.  The  little  parlor  on  the  right  of 
the  hall  was  altogether  too  small  to  be  called  any 
thing  but  a  reception-room  or  ladies'  morning-room. 
It  was  in  fact  the  music-room,  for  Lilly  Oldham 
had  her  piano  there.  The  dining-room  was  a  tol 
erably  good-sized  one  ;  but  the  library  was  the 

largest  room  in  the  house — the  only  large  one 

not  indeed  a  grand  one,  for  the  ceiling  was  too  low 
for  that  ;  but  as  to  the  rest,  it  would  be  thought  an 
ample  library  for  a  country  house  of  five  times  the 
pretension  of  the  Doctor's  cottage.  Most  persons 
would  doubtless  have  made  it  the  drawing-room, 
but  the  Doctor  was  of  a  different  mind. 

"Mrs.  Oldham,"  said  he,  conversing  with  his 
wife  before  it  was  built,  "  we  are  not  rich,  and  we 
are  not  so  vulgar  as  to  be  ashamed  of  the  fact. 
Our  social  consequence,  at  least  in  the  eyes  of  all 
sensible  and  thorough-bred  people,  (and  they  are 


ATGEEYSTONES.  33 

the  only  persons  for  whose  opinion  we  care,)  de 
pends  on  ourselves  and  not  on  the  money  we  spend. 
We  can  add  one  large  room  to  our  cottage,  and 
only  one.     Let  us  not  turn  that  into  a  show-room 
for  fine  furniture,  too  fine  for  e very-day  use.     Let 
us  live  in  it  and  make  it  comfortable  to  live  in. 
Let  us  fit  it  up  as  a   library.      I  don't   mean  a 
grand  show  library  for  other  people's  eyes.      Our 
collection  is  not   large  enough  for  my  idea  of  a 
library  of  any  pretension,  and  certainly  our  books 
are   not   fine  enough  in  dress  for  a  show  library. 
But  let  us  have  our  books  here,  such  as  we  have — 
my  books,   yours,   and    the  children's.      It   is   so 
pleasant  to  have  them  always  at  hand  in  the  room 
where  we  mostly  live.     Here  we  will  pass  the  even 
ings  together ;  here  receive  the  friendly  neighbors 
whom  we  like  to  have  drop  in  upon  us.     Here, 
when  by  ourselves,  we  will  pass  the  hours  in  cheer 
ful  chat,  or  grave  discourse,  or  reading  each  the 
book  that  takes  his  humor  best,  or  in  that  highest 
and   finest  of  social   pleasures — a  charming  book 
mutually  enjoyed.     To  those  who  have  a  taste  for 
good  books,  how  can  time  ever  hang  heavy  ?     The 
winged  hours  fraught  with  the  present  pleasure  of 
delightful  studies  fly  away  so  swiftly,  it  would  be 
mournful  to  consider  how  swiftly  they  fly,  but  that 


34  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

the  memory  they  leave  has  no  sadness  in  it  from 
the  thought  they  are  gone.  Many  other  joys 
perish  in  the  fruition  ;  this  is  never  a  perished  joy  : 
such  is  the  marvellous  quality  of  it  that  not  only 
the  past  lives  in  memory,  but  may  be  ever  renewed 
with  more  than  its  first  delight.  There  is  no  source 
of  earthly  enjoyment  that  I  oftener  or  more  fer 
vently  thank  God  for  than  that  which  is  to  be 
found  in  the  genial  companionship  of  good  books. 
Let  us  rejoice,  my  dear,  that  we  can  command  here 
the  very  highest  and  best  society  the  world  affords. 
And  it  is  one  that  has  a  wonderful  advantage  over 
that  vulgar  product  of  mushroom  wealth  which 
calls  itself  society  in  the  great  town  below.  We 
can  exclude  all  the  bores  and  detrimentals  of  every 
sort,  whether  bad  in  head  or  bad  in  heart,  or  with 
no  heart  at  all— all  the  brutes  and  all  the  insects, 
solemn  or  silly,  taciturn  or  chattering,  strutting  or 
fluttering,  droning  or  buzzing,  or  biting  or  stinging, 
that  infest  ordinary  society.  We  can  have  our 
pick  out  of  the  finest  spirits  of  every  age  and 
nation — all  those  through  whom  the  world  has  been 
made  wiser  and  brighter  and  better.  It  is  glorious 
company,  those  immortal  ones  !  We  will  cultivate 
a  large  acquaintance  with  them,  yet  not  so  large  as 
an  intimate  one  with  those  we  like  best.  Let  us 


ATGKEYSTONES.  35 

thank  God  for  such  choice  companionship,  always 
delightful  in  itself,  always  at  hand,  never  giving  us 
pain  through  vanity  or  caprice,  and  never  changing 
from  friendliness  to  coldness  or  ill-will. 

"  And  talking  of  the  companionship  of  good  books 
reminds  me  of  one  I  am  reading  now,  and  of  a  pas 
sage  in  it  that  I  marked  yesterday.  It  is  in  one  of 
Southey's  letters  to  his  life-long  friend  Grosvenor 
Bedford,  and  dated  from  his  home  among  the  Cum 
berland  hills  just  after  his  settlement  there.  There 
is  not  much  in  it,  but  still  I  was  pleased  with  the 
feeling  it  expressed.  Here  it  is  : 

"  c  Coleridge  is  gone  for  Devonshire,  and  I  was 
going  to  say  I  am  alone,  but  that  the  sight  of 
Shakespeare,  and  Spencer,  and  Milton,  and  the 
Bible,  on  my  table,  and  Castenheda,  and  Barros, 
and  Ossorio,  at  my  elbow,  tell  me  I  am  in  the  best 
of  all  possible  company/ 

"  So  wrote  Southey,  at  the  age  of  thirty,  from 
that  Greta  Hall,  where,  pen  in  hand,  he  lived  among 
his  books  for  more  than  thirty  years  more,  and  made 
the  name  of  his  home  a  familiar  and  a  pleasant 
name  to  all  who  love  the  memory  of  a  good  man 
and  a  genuine  man  of  letters.  What  a  love  of  good 
books  he  had.  Think  of  it,  my  dear — a  man  with 
out  fortune,  obliged  to  write  daily  for  his  daily 


36  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

bread,  gathering  around  him  more  than  fourteen 
thousand  choice  works,  all  bought  and  paid  for  save 
those  given  him  by  authors  and  friends.  The  like 
case,  I  guess,  cannot  be  found.  And  nothing  could 
tempt  him  away  from  their  companionship.  He 
was  made  a  member  of  Parliament  without  his 
leave  asked  ;  but  he  would  not  take  his  seat  ; — 
not  that  he  was  indifferent  to  public  interests  ; — no 
man  watched  the  course  of  affairs  with  a  keener  eye, 
or  did  more  to  give  direction  to  the  public  mind — 
as  you  may  see  not  only  in  his  works  published 
with  his  name,  but  in  the  list  of  his  thirty  years' 
contributions  to  the  Quarterly  Review.  Nor  was  it 
that  he  felt  himself  more  delightfully  at  home 
among  his  books ;  but  because  he  thought  he  could 
do  more  good  by  staying  there  than  in  the  House 
of  Commons.  I  must  read  you  his  letter  about  it 
sometime — so  sensible  and  so  good  :  and  I  must 
also  read  you  his  letter  to  Sir  Robert  Peel,  declin 
ing  the  Baronetcy  offered  him  by  the  king,  and  the 
wise  and  right-hearted  reasons  he  gives. 

"  Yet  Southey's  love  of  books  did  not  make  him 
neglectful  of  any  social  or  domestic  obligation. 
His  widowed  mother  sustained  and  cherished  by 
him  ;  his  younger  brother  educated  and  set  forward 
in  an  honorable  career  ;  his  own  family  creditably 


ATGEEYSTONES.  37 

maintained,  and  liis  children  fitted  for  the  best 
stations  in  life  ;  his  wife's  sisters  or  sisters'  children 
taken  to  his  hearth  and  home  ; — all  this  accom 
plished  by  the  labors  of  his  patient  pen;  and  an 
honorable  independence  free  from  debt  ever  scrupu 
lously  preserved — show  him  a  man  fulfilling  not 
only  the  strict  duties,  but  the  noblest  charities  of 
domestic  life.  I  declare  to  you,  my  dear  wife,  if 
God  spares  my  life  and  health,  I  should  like  to 
write  a  sketch  of  the  life  and  writings,  the  genius, 
and  character  of  Eobert  Southey." 

"I  hope  you  will  do  it,  husband,"  said  Mrs. 
Oldham,  "  it  is  a  beautiful  subject,  and  besides  you 
knew  him  so  well,  and  he  was  so  kind  to  you  when 
you  were  at  school  in  England." 

"Ah,  if  Irving  would  only  give  me  the  pen 
with  which  he  wrote  his  charming  life  of  Gold 
smith,"  said  the  Doctor  in  reply. 

"  Why,  husband,  your  pen  is  good  enough  : 
you  can  do  it  as  well  as  Mr.  Irving,  I  am  sure." 

"  That  is  the  delusion  of  an  affectionate  wife," 
replied  the  Doctor ;  "  but  it  does  credit  to  your 
heart,  my  dear." 


38  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 


CHAPTER    V. 

GREYSTONES  :     AND     WHAT    DOWNING    MIGHT     HAVE     SAID    IF    HE    HAD 
HAD    THE    ALTERING    OP    THE    PLAN    OF    IT. 

I  THINK  we  are  backing  up  to  the  proper  starting- 
place.  I  begin  to  have  hope  we  shall,  before  many 
chapters,  be  able  to  get  on  in  a  way  more  satisfac 
tory  to  the  lovers  of  regular  proceedings.  We  have 
gone  from  the  library  table  to  the  library.  A 
library  (a  private  library  at  least,  such  as  the  Doc 
tor's)  presumes  a  house  of  which  the  library  forms 
a  part ;  that  is,  if  you  understand  by  the  word 
library  what  I  mean,  a  book-room  namely,  and  not 
a  mere  collection  of  books.  The  Arabs  have  fifty 
words  to  designate  the  lion.  We  have  fifty  mean 
ings  to  some  single  words.  I  do  not  object  to  this. 
But  I  think  it  a  grievance  that  we  have  not  one 
word  exclusively  appropriated  to  denote  such  an 
agreeable  thing  as  a  comfortable,  cheerful  room., 
where  one  can  find  good  books  in  plenty,  and  a 


ATGREYSTONES.  39 

plenty  of  all  needful  appliances  for  reading  them  at 
ease. 

We  have  now  our  library  :  I  mean,  you  and  I, 
courteous  reader,  have  now  the  Doctor's  library — 
not  implicite,  as  before,  but  explicite — no  longer  as  a 
thing  presumed,  but  a  thing  set  forth.  I  hope  you 
like  it. 

But,  as  I  said,  the  library  presumes  a  house  ; 
the  house  a  locality,  and  some  determinate  archi 
tectural  form  and  fashion — outside  looks  and  inside 
dispositions ;  also,  environs,  prospects,  and  such 
like  things  ;  and,  in  fine,  also  inmates  or  a  family. 
All  these  things  must  be  reached  by  arriving  back 
ward  in  some  way,  which  I  am  resolved  to  do  in 
the  shortest,  that  is,  the  straightest  way  I  may  find 
ability  to  do  it  in. 

The  curious  reader  is  doubtless  eager  to  get  at 
these  things.  But  if  he  be  at  the  same  time  an 
observant  and  discriminating  one,  he  will  notice 
that  the  promise  is  made  in  such  wise  only  as  an 
honest  man,  conscious  of  his  peculiar  infirmities, 
will  ever  make  a  promise  to  go  straight :  it  is  made 
with  a  qualification.  I  never  drink  any  thing  but 
water,  and  might  safely  promise  in  the  most  abso 
lute  way  to  keep  to  the  narrowest  straight  line  of 
literal  foot-going  ever  marked  out  in  space  ;  but  as 


40  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

to  going  a  straight  lino  in  writing — whether  straight 
forward  (which  is  the  natural  and  proper  way),  or 
straight  hackwards  (which  is  the  only  right  way 
in  this  case) — I  am  so  well  aware  of  my  propensity 
to  go  zig-zaging  along  to  the  right  and  the  left, 
and  of  the  feebleness  of  my  will  to  resist  any  temp 
tation  that  may  lure  me  astray,  that  I  never  make 
any  such  promise  without  the  reservation  proper  to 
one  who  knows  it  is  an  even  chance  his  firmest 
resolutions  may  be  of  no  effect.  Let  us  hope  for 
the  best.  The  resolution  is  an  honest  one. 

The  judicious  reader  will  already  have  noted 
and  put  together  a  number  of  intimations  in  the 
foregoing  chapters  on  all  the  matters  in  question ; 
so  that  I  shall  only  have  to  fill  up  what  is  meagre 
and  to  supply  what  is  deficient. 

The  judicious  reader  already  knows  that  the 
Doctor's  house  is  a  cottage,  and  called  Grey- 
stones.  The  name  was  his  daughter  Lilly's  giving. 
She  has  a  fancy  for  bestowing  pretty  and  appro 
priate  names  upon  every  thing.  She  chose  this, 
however,  not  because  she  thought  it  as  pretty  as 
some  others,  but  because  it  was  the  most  appro 
priate  one  she  could  think  of.  For  the  house  is  a 
low,  irregular  cottage,  of  rough-dressed,  .dark  grey 
stone — the  walls  covered  with  ivy,  and  the  pillars 


ATGREYSTONES.  41 

of  the  rustic  verandas  twined  with  honeysuckle 
and  other  flowering  creepers.  It  is  nestled  down 
in  a  little  sheltered  nook  on  the  Hudson,  a  little 
south  of  the  old  Dutch  town  near  which  it  lies — so 
near  indeed  that  the  Post-office,  the  churches, 
and  shops,  are  all  within  ten  minutes7  walk.  Yet 
it  is  shut  out  from  the  view  of  the  town  by  one 
of  two  small  hills,  which  look  as  though  they 
were  once  only  one  single  hill,  in  shape  like  an 
inverted  bowl,  that  had  been  split  down  in  the 
middle  and  shoved  apart,  so  as  to  form  a  little 
triangular  valley  with  a  wide  opening  towards  the 
river,  while  at  the  apex  or  smallest  end  the  faces 
of  the  split  hill  come  so  near  together  as  to  leave 
only  an  opening  for  a  road  into  the  tiny  valley. 
The  faces  of  these  twin  hills  are  almost  perpen 
dicular  crags,  with  a  few  small  cedars,  dogwood, 
and  other  shrubs  and  wild-vines  growing  out  of 
the  seams  and  fissures  of  the  rocks.  The  other 
sides  are  gentle  acclivities  clothed  with  cedars  of 
some  size. 

At  the  narrow  end  of  this  secluded  little  hollow, 
on  the  right  hand  as  you  enter  it  by  the  road  be 
tween  the  hills,  near  the  face  and  under  the  shelter 
of  the  one  that  looks  to  the  south-west,  stands  the 
cottage.  The  little  hollow  is,  however,  high  up 


42  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

above  the  level  of  the  river,  on  the  edge  of  the 
ridge,  that  runs  back  with  a  pretty  sharp  ascent 
from  the  water-side  for  nearly  a  mile  before  you 
reach  the  plateau  where  the  town  mostly  lies  ;  so 
that,  although  it  is  shut  in  by  the  hills  that 
flank  it  on  the  eastern  side,  it  commands  a 
view,  not  only  of  the  hills  across  the  river,  doubling 
and  trebling  their  outlines  against  the  western 
sky,  but  to  the  south  of  a  long  reach  of  the  river 
and  the  Fishkill  mountain,  that  seems  to  bar  all 
further  progress  of  the  water  on  its  journey  to  the 
sea ; — while  away  up  in  the  far  north-west  the 
Shawangunk  and  the  Catskill  mountains  loom 
up — their  sides  relieved  against  the  sky  mostly  by 
a  darker  blue,  but  often  (in  the  winter)  by  a  cover 
ing  of  white. 

Greystones  had  undergone  some  alterations 
since  the  Oldhams  came  there.  They  found  the 
cottage  quite  small,  and  the  rooms,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  the  one  they  set  apart  for  the  dining-room, 
were  not  only  of  very  tiny  dimensions,  but  there 
were  not  enough  of  them  for  the  accommodation  of 
the  family ;  so  that  the  Doctor  had  to  set  imme 
diately  about  enlarging  his  new  home.  And  what 
with  erections  put  alongside  and  erections  put  on 
top,  it  soon  straggled  out  into  a  very  anomalous 


AT     GREYS  TONES.  43 

edifice,  with  all  sorts  of  heights  of  stories  and  sky 
outlines  ;  yet  within,  it  had  a  plenty  of  just  such 
rooms  as  were  wanted,  and  in  just  such  connection 
with  each  other  as  they  should  be  for  the  conven 
ience  of  the  family — not  omitting  the  little  study 
off  the  library,  with  'the  bath-room  and  dressing- 
room  adjoining,  which  were  the  Doctor's  special 
contrivance  for  his  own  particular  convenience. 

Doctor  Oldham  had  been  his  own  architect,  and 
thinking  of  nothing  at  first  but  how  to  secure  the 
proper  number  and  connection  of  rooms,  had  drawn 
some  ground-plans,  and  set  the  builder  to  work 
upon  them — leaving  the  whole  matter  of  external 
effect  to  make  the  best  bargain  it  could  afterwards 
with  himself  and  the  builder,  who  was  only  a  com 
mon  carpenter,  and  the  farthest  in  the  world  from 
a  Downing  or  an  Upjohn.  So  the  result  was  some 
thing  not  likely  to  be  copied  into  any  book  of  de 
signs  for  model  cottages. 

But  within,  it  was  so  roomy,  comfortable,  and 
cheerful,  that  the  Doctor  was  perfectly  contented 
with  his  dwelling ;  and  would  have  been  so,  even 
if  the  outside  had  been  ever  so  queer  in  the  estima 
tion  of  his  out-door  neighbors,  provided  its  inmates 
were  satisfied  with  it.  But  Mrs.  Oldham  liked  it ; 
Phil  liked  it ;  Lilly  liked  it ;  Fred  liked  it ;  and 


44  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

Cousin  Kitty  liked  it—they  all  liked  it  as  a  whole, 
and  each  their  own  rooms  in  particular. 

Nor  are  you  to  understand  that  the  cottage 
is  at  all  what  could  be  called  grotesque  or  ugly. 
It  is  merely  something  a  little  out  of  the  com 
mon  way  in  its  appearance.  But  it  has  a  certain 
agreeable  harmony  of  its  various  parts,  and  a 
pleasing  unity  as  a  whole— expressive  especially  of 
a  thoroughly  modest  and  unpretending  union  of 
snugness  and  sufficiency,  amplitude  and  comfort. 
And  though  so  near  to  the  town,  and  with  but  a 
few  acres  of  domain,  yet,  what  with  being  screened 
from  it  as  they  are,  and  with  the  wide  and  beau 
tiful  views  they  can  command,  the  family  have  all 
that  sense  of  rural  life,  that  feeling  of  being  in 
the  country,  which  they  love  so  much,  and  so 
largely  enjoyed  at  Oldwood. 

As  I  like  you,  0  courteous  and  friendly  reader, 
to  have  a  clear  and  vivid  image  of  every  thing  im- 
ageable  relating  to  the  Doctor,  I  have  sketched  the 
ground  plan  of  his  cottage  somewhat  after  Down- 
ing's  fashion — which  I  dare  say  you  will  be  pleased 
to  study  a  little.  The  elevation  and  perspective 
of  the  exterior,  I  cannot  draw  ;  but  I  intend  to  get 
one  of  the  Doctor's  artist  friends,  Weir  or  Withers, 
to  make  sketches  of  it,  both  as  seen  from  the  foot 


AT.     GREYSTONES.  45 

• 

of  the  lawn,  and  also  from  the  east,  as  you  first 
come  in  sight  of  it,  when  you  enter  the  grounds 
by  the  road.  The  plan  shows  the  rooms  on  the 
first  floor  ;  of  the  second,  I  give  no  sketch —  the 
reader  will  please  to  imagine  it  divided  into  a  suffi 
cient  number  of  convenient  bedrooms.  He  will 
also  bear  in  mind  that  the  vestibule  or  entrance- 
porch  is  on  the  east  side  of  the  house  ;  the  other 
side  faces  toward  the  river,  and  commands  the 
views  I  have  mentioned. 

This  ground  plan  is  one  which  I  am  apt  to 
think  the  lamented  Downing  himself  would  not 
have  disdained  to  consider.  Indeed,  I  am  ready  to 
believe  he  would  have  pronounced  it,  in  several 
respects,  a  very  commendable  plan.  I  presume  he 
would  have  somewhat  altered  the  disposition  of  the 
rooms.  He  might  have  made  the  library  smaller — 
at  all  events  he  would  have  had  a  drawing-room  ; 
either  converting  the  present  library  to  that  pur 
pose,  and  taking  the  dining-room  for  a  library,  or 
else  taking  the  dining-room  for  a  drawing-room — 
in  which  case  he  would  have  lengthened  it  at  the 
west  end,  putting  in  a  large  bay  window  ;  and  in 
either  case,  he  would  have  taken  Mrs.  Oldham's 
room  for  a  dining-room,  enlarging  it  somewhat, 
and  providing  a  room  for  her  up-stairs.  This  done, 


46 


DO  q TOR     OLDHAM 


ATGREYSTONES.  47 

I  think  he  would  have  written  something  on  this 
wise  :  "  A  sensible,  unpretending  house  ;  a  judi 
cious  and  convenient  disposition  of  the  rooms. 
Nothing  appears  to  be  wanting  to  the  accommoda 
tion  and  comfort  of  the  inmates,  who  are  evidently 
persons  of  refinement  and  culture.  The  size  of 
the  library  shows  the  predominance  of  intellectual 
tastes  in  the  family,  and  the  general  appearance 
of  the  interior — its  dispositions  and  arrangements, 
indicate  a  love  for  domestic  life,  for  refined  pleas 
ures,  and  the  simple  enjoyments  of  a  quiet  country 
home  in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful  nature." 

So,  I  say,  the  lamented  Downing  might  have 
written  ;  and  it  is  as  perfectly  true  of  the  Doctor's 
house  and  the  Doctor's  family,  as  though  he  had 
altered  the  plan  in  the  way  I  have  supposed  he 
might.  Indeed,  I  think  the  remarks  better  apply 
to  the  plan  the  Doctor  and  his  wife  fixed  upon  and 
carried  out,  and  which  I  have  given  a  sketch  of  for 
the  inspection  of  the  reader  who  takes  pleasure  in 
considering  such  plans.  I  am  fond  of  studying 
them  myself.  I  like  to  read  Downing's  books 
on  country  houses  and  cottages,  and  landscape 
gardening ;  and  I  think  we  in  this  country  owe 
him  a  great  debt  of  gratitude — for  he  has  done 
more  than  any  other  person  to  awaken  and  extend 


48  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

a  taste  for  the  beautiful  in  a  direction  which  emi 
nently  tends  to  the  improvement  of  the  people  in 
true  culture,  in  happiness,  and  in  goodness. 

In  considering  this  plan,  the  reader  will  please 
to  note  that  the  Doctor's  study  is  a  lean-to,  built 
against  the  library,  and  is  lighted  from  the  roof. 
This  allows  the  conservatory  to  be  built  around 
it  in  the  way  indicated  in  the  sketch.  In  cold 
weather,  a  hot-water  apparatus  in  the  cellar  warms 
the  conservatory,  the  study,  and  the  library — 
although  in  the  latter  a  fire  is  also  kept  in  the 
grate  for  its  cheerful  looks. 

The  consideration  of  this  plan,  as  a  whole,  and 
especially  the  largeness  of  the  library,  the  little 
study,  the  conservatory,  the  absence  of  a  drawing- 
room  proper,  the  music-room — in  short,  all  the 
details  will  tell  the  judicious  and  thoughtful  reader 
a  good  deal  about  the  Doctor  and  his  wife — their 
dispositions  and  tastes,  and  the  ways  and  habits 
of  the  family. 

Thus  it  often  is  that  things  which  at  first 
glance  seem  to  be  mere  facts,  dead  and  barren, 
become  living,  seminal,  and  fruitful — to  those  who 
think. 

,   "  0  reader!  had  you  in  your  mind 

Such  stores  as  silent  thought  can  bring : 
O  gentle  reader  !  you  would  find 
A  tale  in  every  thing." 


ATGREYSTONES.  49 


CHAPTER   VI. 

HENRY  REED. COLERIDGE  ON  WORDSWORTH^  VERSES. THE  DOCTOR'S 

THEORY  OF  THE  DISTINCTION  BETWEEN  MAN  AND  THE  BRUTES, 
AND  ALSO  OF  THE  EDIBLE  AND  POTABLE  UNIVERSE,  AS  PRO 
POUNDED  TO  PROFESSOR  CLARE. 

HENRY  REED,  Wordsworth's  friend  and  genial 
editor,  whose  name  calls  up  to  the  fancy  of  all  who 
knew  and  loved  him  (and  all  loved  him  who  knew 
him)  the  image  of  a  man  of  most  refined  culture, 
of  most  intimate  acquaintanceship  with  every  thing 
choice  in  literature  and  art,  of  most  pure  and  per 
fect  taste  and  judgment  for  every  thing  graceful 
and  beautiful,  true  and  good  ;  and  more  than  all 
this,  of  a  beauty  of  character  such  as  is  seldom 
seen  and  never  surpassed — manly  virtue  (planting 
itself  firmly  on  the  ground  of  clearly  seen  principle 
to  stand  and  withstand)  united  to  a  womanly 
tenderness  and  delicacy  of  moral  feeling  and  a 
womanly  quickness  and  rectitude  of  moral  senti 
ment  ; — whose  name  recalls  also  the  terrible  images 


50  DOCTOROLDHAM 

of  that  afternoon  of  the  27th  of  September,  1854, 
when  the  ill-fated  Arctic  and  her  three  hundred 
passengers  (he  among  them)  went  down  to  a  watery 
grave — images  that  will  be  ever  vivid  in  the  fancy 
of  those  who  had  dearly  loved  friends  on  board, 
although  they  have  doubtless  now  grown  dim  in 
most  others'  minds  (such  is  the  effect  of  time,  and 
of  the  intensity  of  our  times,  and  the  continual 
recurrence  of  similar  catastrophes,  the  last  one 
effacing  the  memory  of  the  one  that  went  before  ) ; 
whose  name  is  now  so  well  and  widely  known,  by 
those  who  knew  him  not  when  in  life,  through 
those  exquisite  products  of  his  mind,  those  fruits 
of  his  academic  studies  and  labors,  which  the  hand 
of  fraternal  piety  has  given  to  the  world — not  all 
it  will  give,  let  us  hope,  now  that  the  Chinese  em 
bassy  is  ended  ; — HENRY  KEED  has  a  note  upon 
those  lines  of  Wordsworth  which  I  have  given  at 
the  end  of  the  last  chapter.  It  is  in  his  edition  of 
the  poet's  works.  It  is  mostly  indeed  a  quotation 
from  Coleridge  ;  and  it  is  that  quotation  which  I 
wish  to  quote,  but  as  I  quote  it  from  Henry  Keed's 
quotation,  I  cannot  do  so  without  being  thus  re 
minded  of  him — what  he  was,  and  of  the  way  of 
his  sad  loss  to  the  world.  Peace  to  the  memory 
of  one  of  the  best  and  gentlest  of  men  ! 


ATGREYSTONES.  51 

"  To  have  formed  the  habit/'  says  Coleridge, 
"  of  looking  at  every  thing  not  for  what  it  is  rela 
tive  to  the  purposes  and  associations  of  men  in  gen* 
eral,  but  for  the  truths  which  it  is  suited  to  repre 
sent — to  contemplate  objects  as  words  and  preg 
nant  symbols  ; — the  advantages  of  this  are  so 
many,  and  so  important,  and  so  eminently  calcu 
lated  to  excite  and  evolve  the  power  of  sound  and 
connected  reasoning,  of  distinct  and  clear  concep 
tion,  that  there  are  few  of  Wordsworth's  finest  pas 
sages — and  who  of  living  poets  can  lay  claim  to 
half  the  number  ? — that  I  repeat  so  often  as  that 
homely  quatrain  : 

U0  reader!  had  you  in  your  mind 
Such  stores  as  silent  thought  can  bring ; 
0  gentle  reader  !  you  would  find 
A  tale  in  every  thing." 

Now  the  habit  signalized  by  Coleridge  is  an 
eminent  quality  and  a  characteristic  trait  of  the 
Doctor's  mind.  The  universe  of  matter  is  to  him 
only  matter  for  reflection.  He  finds  no  interest  in 
mere  dead  facts.  To  him  indeed  most  facts  are 
living,  seminal,  fruitful,  or  if  not  that,  at  least 
suggestive  ;  but,  if  neither— if  utterly  dead  and 
barren — they  are  to  him  as  nothing. 

The  Doctor  has  however  a  way  of  talking  some- 


52  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

times,  which  I  cannot  quite  commend — particu 
larly  to  Professor  Clare,  whose  face  often  gets  a 
very  puzzled  look  in  listening  to  him  :  indeed,  it 
takes  a  man  who  understands  the  Doctor  to  under 
stand  precisely  what  and  how  much  of  serious 
meaning  there  sometimes  is  in  his  talk — how  much 
is  intended  for  sense  and  how  much  for  nonsense. 
An  instance  which  occurred  the  other  day  will 
illustrate  this,  as  well  as  that  quality  of  the  Doc 
tor's  mind,  which  I  have  remarked  upon  ahove. 

Professor  Clare  happened  to  stay  to  dinner 
with  them  that  day.  They  had  roasted  goose  on 
the  table  ;  and  that  set  the  Doctor  off — not  on  a 
wild-goose  chase,  but  on  a  flight  into  the  regions 
of  speculation  touching  the  origin  and  significance 
of  many  of  the  old  customs,  such  as  the  Christmas 
Goose,  Shrovetide  Pancakes,  Good  Friday  Hot 
Cross  Bunns,  and  Easter  or  Paschal  Eggs. 

He  had  stuck  the  fork  in  the  right  place,  but 
the  carving-knife  lay  idly  in  his  grasp,  resting  on 
the  goose  it  should  have  been  employed  in  cutting 
up. 

Mrs.  Oldham  and  the  children  watched  his 
flight, — Mrs.  Oldham  placidly,  Lilly  and  Cousin 
Kitty  with  amused  resignation,  Phil  and  Fred  with 
the  comical  expression  of  hungry  boys  trying  to 


AT     GREYS  TONES.  53 

behave  properly  under  trying  circumstances.  What 
Professor  Clare  thought  could  not  be  told.  He 
listened  with  an  air  of  great  interest. 

"Husband,"  interposed  Mrs.  Oldham,  after  a 
little  while,  "  hadn't  you  better  help  us  to  some 
thing  to  eat  ?  " 

She  said  this  in  her  placid  way,  without  the 
least  rebuke  or  sarcasm  in  tone  or  intention ;  and 
so  the  Doctor  understood  her. 

"  Oh  !  Ah  !  Yes,  my  dear/'  said  he,  beginning 
to  carve  the  goose,  "  I  will  postpone  my  remarks. 
It  is  ill-preaching  to  hungry  folks  ;  for  as  the  in 
comparable  Pantagruel  saith  to  Panurge,  e  it  is  a 
most  difficult  thing  for  the  spirits  to  be  in  a  good 
plight,  serene  and  lively,  when  there  is  nothing 
in  the  body  but  a  kind  of  voidness  and  inanity; 
seeing  that  the  philosophers  with  the  physicians 
jointly  affirm '  ;  .  * .  .<  .  .:  *  .  .  ...; 

The  Doctor  by  this  time  had  stopped  carving. 
Lilly  and  Kitty  exchanged  glances,  amused  but  not 
derisive  (for  they  both  held  the  Doctor  in  great 
love  and  reverence)  ;  while  Phil  and  Fred  could 
hardly  restrain  the  expression  of  their  impatience. 
It  was  lucky  for  them  their  mother  interposed 
again.  She  was  the  children's  providence,  the 
Doctor's  good  genius  in  general,  and  his  gentle 


54  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

flapper  in  especial,  in  cases  like  this.  And  it  was 
in  the  word  "husband/7  by  which  she  always  ad 
dressed  him,  and  in  the  way  she  spoke  it,  that  the 
charm  seemed  to  lie. 

"  Husband/'  said  she,  gently  interrupting  him 
at  this  point,  "  you  have  not  helped  us  yet." 

"  Bless  me,  no  more  I  have,  my  dear,*'  replied 
the  Doctor,  coming  fully  to  himself,  "but  I  will 
help  you  all  now  and  myself  too,  and  we  will  eat 
our  dinner  before  I  say  any  thing  more." 

He  kept  his  word  this  time.  A  lively  discus 
sion  of  good  things  followed  ;  but  altogether  of  a 
literal  and  practical  sort. 

But  as  they  were  returning  to  the  library,  he 
began : 

"Professor  Clare,"  said  he,  "can  you  think 
that  roasted  goose  and  plum-pudding,  turkeys 
and  mince-pies,  are  merely  food  for  the  body  ? 
Are  they  not  also  food  for  the  mind  ?  As  also  all 
things  edible  and  potable  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  so/'  replied  the  Professor,  "  in 
the  sense  of  your  Pantagruel,  whose  remark  you 
quoted  :  the  functions  of  our  minds  depend  upon 
our  bodies,  and  our  bodies  depend  upon  food.  A 
man  starved  to  death  will  not  make  much  display 
of  mind,  nor  a  man  faint  from  hunger  a  very  lively 


ATGBEYSTONES.  55 

"  But  that  is  not  the  sense  I  mean/'  said  the 
Doctor  ;  "  that  is  altogether  a  mere  Pantagruelian 
view :  it  is  of  the  earthly  understanding,  earthly. 
No,  sir ;  my  opinion  is  that  all  things  eatable  and 
drinkable  are  food  for  the  mind,  through  the  capa 
city  of  the  soul  to  be  thereby  prompted  and  lifted 
up  to  spiritual  reflections,  as  multifarious  as  the 
objects  of  the  gustatory  universe.  Herein,  in  fact, 
lies  the  main  distinction  between  man  and  the 
brute,  and  the  only  real  eminence  of  the  former  over 
the  latter  in  the  matter  of  eating.  Does  it  not 
seem  so  to  you  ?  " 

"  But  some  philosopher  has  made  a  different 
distinction,"  said  the  Professor,  "  and  defined  man 
as  a  '  cooking  animal.7 " 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  the  name  of  that 
philosopher  ?  "  inquired  the  Doctor. 

"  No,"  replied  the  Professor. 

"  Neither  do  I,"  returned  the  Doctor,  "  but  I 
hold  him  in  small  respect,  whatever  his  name  may 
be.  Pretty  philosopher,  to  find  the  distinguishing 
characteristic  of  man  in  an  accident,  which,  even 
if  it  be  an  inseparable  accident,  does  not  come 
within  a  hundred  miles  of  beginning  to  vindicate 
for  human  beings  the  attribute  of  reason  ! 

"  Besides,  cooking  or  not  cooking,  is  altogether 


56  DOCTOR      OLDHAM 

an  affair  of  the  palate — a  matter  of  preference  : 
there  is  no  room  even  for  mooting  the  question  of 
rationality  about  it — de  gustibus  non  est  disputan- 
dum,  you  know.  It  is  equally  rational  for  the 
Welshman  to  like  toasted  cheese  as  it  is  for  me  to 
dislike  it.  And  so  it  is  just  as  rational  for  the  lion 
to  like  his  beefsteak  raw  as  it  is  for  the  Englishman 
to  like  it  underdone,  or  the  Frenchman  thoroughly 
done  with  truffle  sauce, — full  as  human  for  the  cat 
to  take  its  rat  uncooked,  as  for  the  Chinaman  to 
cook  his  rat  before  he  takes  it. 

"Nothing,  my  dear  sir,  can  be  argued  from 
such  differences  of  taste.  The  crow  is  fond  of 
uncooked  carrion,  the  Fejee  islander  of  baked  man. 
Is  the  crow's  taste  less  rational  ?  Would  a  pref 
erence  for  cooked  carrion  make  a  man  of  the  crow  ? 
Would  the  Fejee  islander  cease  to  be  a  man,  if  he 
should  come  to  like  a  piece  of  raw  missionary  better 
than  a  cut  of  cold  roast  ?  Will  anybody  maintain 
this  ?  " 

"  But  may  it  not  be  questioned  whether  it  is 
merely  a  matter  of  taste  ?."  interposed  the  Pro 
fessor  ;  "is  it  not  the  ingenuity  shown  in  cooking 
his  food  that  the  philosopher  had  in  mind,  when  he 
made  his  definition  ?  " 

"  Well,  granting  it  to  be  so/'  replied  the  Doc- 


ATGREYSTONES.  57 

tor,  "  is  ingenuity  in  material  adaptations  an  at 
tribute  belonging  exclusively  to  rational  beings  ? 
No,  sir,  that  cannot  be  maintained.  If  it  could,  it 
would  only  prove  that  there  are  rational  brutes. 
For  I  am  bold  to  affirm  that  the  way  in  which 
many  sorts  of  animals  take  and  store  away  their 
food  which  they  do  not  cook,  shows  vastly  more 
sagacity  than  some  tribes  of  human  beings  display 
in  their  modes  of  cooking  their  food/' 

"  All  instinct/'  suggested  the  Professor. 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  Doctor,  "what  I  refer  to 
cannot  be  called  instinct.  There  are,  it  is  true, 
very  many  wise  doings  of  brutes  that  are  matters 
of  pure  instinct — blind  instinct,  as  all  pure  instinct 
always  is.  This  sort  of  doings  the  animals  that  do 
them  do  not  know  the  wisdom  of ; — it  is  not  their 
wisdom  but  their  Maker's,  that  works  in  them  by  a 
law  in  their  nature  which  leads  them  to  do  those 
things  always  invariably  in  the  same  way  under  all 
circumstances,  and  as  perfectly  the  first  as  the 
thousandth  time— as,  for  instance,  the  ways  in 
which  the  different  sorts  of  birds  always  build  their 
nests.  That  is  instinct.  It  is  not  of  that  I  was 
speaking,  but  of  cases  where  animals  will  vary  their 
conduct  as  circumstances  vary,  adapt  their  con 
trivances  to  sudden  exigencies,  take  different  means 
3* 


58  DOC  TOR     OLD  HAM 

to-day  from  those  they  took  yesterday  to  accom 
plish  the  same  end,  because  they  find  themselves  in 
different  conditions.  This  is  not  instinct.  I  do 
not  say  it  is  reason.  I  do  not  believe  it  is.  But  it 
is  skill,  it  is  sagacity,  it  is  intelligence  ;  and  it  is 
the  animal's  own  intelligence,  their  Maker's  intel 
ligence,  indeed,  considered  as  the  gift  of  a  faculty — 
and  so  is  ours — but  their  own  intelligence,  as  not 
working  blindly  and  always  in  the  same  way,  which 
instinct  does. 

"  If  you  would  know  all  about  this  wonderful 
ingenuity  of  animals,  go  read  Huber  on  Bees  and 
on  Ants — very  remarkable  books  to  be  written  by  a 
blind  man  ;  but  he  used  his  wife's  eyes  to  see  with 
(I  believe),  and  his  wife's  pen  to  make  the  record  ; 
and  that  is  the  reason,  no  doubt,  why  the  books 
are  at  once  so  wise  and  so  charmingly  agreeable. 
Head,  too,  almost  any  of  the  books  that  tell  us  of 
the  fox,  the  beaver,  the  elephant,  and  the  dog,  and 
you  will  confess  that  the  ingenuity  of  many  animals, 
in  taking  and  storing  their  food,  is  greater  than  the 
cooking  ingenuity  of  some  human  tribes. 

"  So  you  see  it  will  not  do  to  defend  that  phi 
losopher's  definition  on  the  score  of  the  ingenuity 
evinced  by  man  as  a  cooking  animal.  Ingenuity  is 
not  rationality  ;  and  if  it  were,  there  are  many 
species  of  brutes  more  rational  than  some  men  are." 


ATGREYSTONES.  59 

"  No,  sir,"  continued  the  Doctor,  "  it  is  not 
because  he  cooks  his  food  that  man  is  man  ;  nor  is 
it  any  more  because  of  any  superior  nicety  of  taste 
and  neatness  in  his  ways. 

"  Such  distinctions  are  arbitrary  ;  you  cannot 
draw  the  line. 

"  With  what  show  of  justice  can  you  exclude 
the  quadruped  that  feeds  on  swill,  or  the  feathered 
biped  that  is  fond  of  carrion,  from  the  category  of 
rational  beings,  and  yet  include  the  Germans  who 
eat  sauer-kraut,  the  Esquimaux  who  are  fond  of 
whale  -  blubber,  or  the  Laplanders  who  esteem 
putrid  eggs  fried  in  train-oil  a  special  delicacy — 
which  latter  fact  I  mention,  not  as  of  my  own 
knowledge  or  reading,  but  on  the  authority  of  my 
friend  Doctor  Wilton,  who  is  very  seldom  mistaken, 
and  thinks  he  never  is. 

"  There  are  crows  that  like  their  fresh  meat  to 
lie  by  until  it  has  acquired  a  game  flavor.  So  does 
Alderman  Gubbins — he  always  has  his  wild-fowl 
and  venison  laid  aside  until  it  is  quite — tender. 
Is  not  the  similarity  of  taste  undeniable  ?  " 

"  But  there  is  a  wide  difference  between  them 
for  all  that,"  said  the  Professor. 

"  I  admit  there  is  a  difference  of  degree,"  re 
plied  the  Doctor.  "  I  will  admit,  if  you  wish — 


60  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

though  I,  for  my  part,  do  not  see  it — that  the 
German  taste  is  more  human  than  the  Esquimaux 
or  Laplanders'  taste,  and  the  latter  more  so  than 
the  taste  of  swine  and  crows  ;  but  in  degree  only. 
And  will  you  make  the  distinction  between  man 
and  the  brutes  a  mere  matter  of  degree  ? 

"The  pig  thrusts  his  snout  clear  to  the  bottom 
of  his  wooden  trough,  and  roots  and  nudges  its  con 
tents  about  with  a  grunt  and  gurgle  of  satisfaction. 
The  little  pig  eyes  of  Alderman  Gubbins  twinkle 
with  equal  satisfaction — and  of  the  same  sort,  as  he 
ladles  his  turtle-soup  out  of  a  silver  tureen  and 
ladles  it  into  his  mouth  with  a  gold  spoon.  Is  it 
in  the  difference  between  swill  and  turtle-soup,  or 
between  the  wooden  trough  and  the  silver  tureen, 
or  between  putting  one's  nose  into  it  or  using  a 
golden  spoon — is  it  in  these  things,  or  in  any  of 
them,  that  you  would  find  the  essential  difference 
between  the  pig  and  Alderman  Gubbins.  You 
surely  cannot  maintain  this. 

"  No,  my  dear  Professor,  it  is  in  the  capacity  to 
reflect  upon  what  he  eats,  to  ascend  to  the  spiritual 
by  means  of  the  sensible,  and  so  to  derive  from  the 
food  of  the  body  a  nourishment  for  the  soul — it  is 
in  this  that  the  difference  between  man  and  the 


ATGREYSTONES.  61 

brute  consists  ;    and  only  so  far  as  he  does  this,  is 
Alderman  dubbins  superior  to  the  pig." 

Professor  Clare's  face  had,  for  some  time,  worn 
a  puzzled  look.  So  he  made  no  reply— only  he 
asked  for  the  volumes  of  Huber-,  which  he  took, 
and  shortly  after  went  away. 

"Husband,"  said  Mrs.  Oldham,  when  he  was 
gone,  "you  sometimes  put  off  so  much  nonsense 
upon  Professor  Clare.  Why  do  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  there 
was  a  great  deal  of  sense  in  it,  as  well  as  some 
nonsense — and  truth,  too,  not  of  the  smallest  order, 
although  some  of  the  logic  was  no  better  than  it 
should  be — which  is  partly  what  puzzled  Professor 
Clare.  Comfort  yourself,  however :  it  will  lead 
him  to  read  those  charming  books,  and  so  be  the 
occasion  of  his  gaining  a  great  delight." 

I  have  given  the  Doctor's  notion  in  regard  to 
the  edible  universe  ;  but  it  was  not  of  that  alone 
he  thus  thought :  the  whole  universe  of  matter  was 
to  him  mere  matter  for  reflection  (as  I  have  said 
before),  and  in  a  sort  transfigured  thereby. 


62  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 


CHAPTER   VII. 

SHORT,     IP      NOT    SWEET. — DIFFERENCE     BETWEEN     THE     AUTHOR    AND 
RABELAIS,    AND    SOME    OTHER    CELEBRATED    WRITERS. 

THE  curious  reader  is  doubtless  now  expecting  me 
to  go  on,  and  give  him  the  personal  history  of  the 
Doctor  and  his  family  ;  because  that  is  the  next 
thing  in  order,  according  to  the  virtuous  resolution 
of  going  straight  backward  to  the  beginning,  which 
T  recorded  in  the  chapter  before  the  last. 

I  have  not,  I  confess,  a  very  high  respect  for 
that  inquisitive  eagerness  to  get  at  the  personal 
history  of  everybody-  they  see,  which  is  so  marked 
a  trait  in  the  character  of  some  of  my  acquaint 
ances. 

There  is,  however,  one  direction  of  this  curiosity 
which  I  have  a  very  cordial  sympathy  with.  It  is 
natural  we  should  take  a  lively  interest  in  knowing 
every  thing  relating  to  the  personal  history  and 
character  of  those  writers  that  have  greatly  delight- 


AT     G  KEYSTONES.  63 

ed  us  and  done  us  good — those  benefactors  to  our 
minds  and  hearts  to  whom  we  owe  great  debts  of 
acknowledgment,  we  can  never  pay  here  below  ; 
whose  names  "breed  in  us  perpetual  benediction." 
The  impulse  to  gather  up  every  incident  of  their 
earthly  lives,  every  trait  and  trace  of  their  habits 
and  ways,  is  spontaneous,  and  it  is  as  creditable  to 
the  heart  as  it  is  natural. 

A  feeling  similar  to  this,  will,  I  have  no  doubt, 
be  very  strong  in  regard  to  Doctor  Oldham,  in  the 
hearts  of  a  multitude  of  the  readers  of  this  book, 
long  before  they  come  to  the  end  of  it,  if  ever 
it  come  to  an  end.  But  at  present  it  can  hardly 
have  begun  to  spring  up.  It  seems  to  me  it  would 
be  time  enough  to  gratify  it  when  it  has  grown  fer 
vent — when  the  sense  of  delight  and  benefit  re 
ceived  from  the  many  wise  and  beautiful  utterances 
of  his,  which  it  will  be  my  duty  to  record,  shall 
have  raised  their  love  and  admiration  to  the  proper 
pitch.  It  would  seem  to  me  then  a  most  laudable 
curiosity,  which  I  should  find  pleasure  in  gratifying 
so  far  as  I  could  do  it  with  propriety. 

There  are  limits  to  such  things.  The  Doctor  is 
yet  alive,  and  would  never  permit  me  to  make  this 
book  the  pretext  and  means  of  thrusting  before  the 
public  the  trivialities  of  his  daily  life — chronicling 


64  DOCTOR     OLDH AM 

the  names  and  ages  of  his  cats  and  dogs  and  horses, 
and  their  ways  and  doings — unless  there  was  some 
thing  really  remarkable  in  them  ;  opening  the  doors 
of  his  dressing-room,  and  displaying  his  shavings 
and  washings,  the  sort  of  soap  and  towels  he  prefers, 
his  dentrifice,  tooth-brushes,  and  back-scratcher,  and 
other  intimacies  of  his  private  ways — such  as  Rabe 
lais,  in  his  great  unconscious  simplicity  and  plain 
ness  of  speech,  might  disclose  to  all  the  world,  but 
which  the  Doctor  would  no  more  consent  to  have 
done  than  I  should  be  willing  to  do.  There  is  now 
and  then  a  celebrated  writer  of  our  days,  who  is 
willing  to  do  this  for  himself,  and  for  other  celeb 
rities  too,  if  he  gets  a  chance.  But  let  the  Doctor's 
privacy  be  sacred  until  he  is  dead.  Then  let  any 
foolish  Boswell  (not  me)  disclose  what  he  will,  so  it 
be  true  :  it  will  not  impair  the  venerableness  of  the 
Doctor  in  good  men's  thoughts.  For  myself,  I  shall 
present  the  Doctor  to  the  public  only  in  such  guise 
as  he  shows  himself  to  all  who  may  chance  to  be  at 
his  house.  As  to  the  rest,  I  shall  not  withhold 
any  thing  that  may  happen  to  fall  from  his  lips 
relating  to  his  past  life,  which  I  may  have  reason 
to  think  he  would  be  willing  to  communicate  to 
any  inquiring  friend.  I  make  no  doubt  the  reader, 


AT     GREY  STONES.  65 

if  he  be  a  judicious  and  not  over-curious  one,  will 
be  able  to  put  together  enough  for  his  satisfaction. 

I  may  as  well  say  here  that  the  Doctor  is  a 
man  a  little  above  the  middle  height — well  built, 
though  stout,  and  now  somewhat  inclining  to  ful 
ness  of  habit.  His  large  head  is  covered  with  a 
profusion  of  soft,  curling  hair,  once  light  brown, 
but  now  turned  nearly  white.  He  has  large,  clear, 
light  blue  eyes  ;  but  he  is  quite  near-sighted,  and 
always  wears  glasses.  His  complexion  is  fair  and 
ruddy,  and  his  countenance  has  an  expression  at 
once  thoughtful  and  benignant— betokening  a  man 
of  good  sense  and  good  humor,  of  a  joyous  and  ge 
nial  social  temper — which  is  eminently  the  quality 
of  the  Doctor's  nature  ;  though  he  is  apt  to  fall 
into  fits  of  absent-mindedness,  particularly  when 
the  speculative  cast  of  his  mind  and  the  peculiar 
associations  of  his  thoughts  lead  him  off  in  some 
odd  out  of  the  way  track.  This  it  is  which  makes 
him  so  prone  to  dissertate  rather  than  converse. 


66  DOCTOR     OLD  HAM 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE  DOCTOR  VISITS  MRS.  ROSSVILLE'S  SCHOOL. — AND  TELLS  HIS  WIFE 
WHAT  HE  SAID  TO  THE  LITTLE  FOLKS  THERE.  —  MR.  GRIM.  — 
HOW  GOD  TAKES  CARE  THE  CHILDREN  SHALL  NOT  BE  HURT  BY 
BAD  CATECHISMS. 

"  I  HAVE  been  up  to  Mrs.  Kossville's  school/'  said 
the  Doctor  to  his  wife  one  evening.  "It  was  a 
sort  of  anniversary,  when  the  children  get  each  a 
present  of  some  nice  book  suitable  to  their  age  and 
intelligence.  Why,  Mrs.  Kossville  and  the  other 
ladies  have  gathered  together  more  than  sixty 
children,  in  that  outlying  district,  who  would  other 
wise  be  very  poorly  off  for  needful  instruction." 

"Yes/'  said  the  Doctor's  wife,  "Mrs.  Eoss- 
ville's  heart  is  full  of  love  and  kindness  towards 
everybody,  and  especially  those  who  need  any  thing 
she  can  do  for  their  welfare.  That  neighborhood 
has  reason  to  be  glad  she  is  so  rich,  and  has  so 
much  in  her  power." 


AT     G  KEYSTONES.  67 

"  True,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  and  her  face  is 
as  full  of  sunshine  and  joyousness  as  her  heart  is 
of  love  and  kindness,  and  this,  together  with  her 
simple,  unaffected,  good-natured  ways  and  words, 
has  such  a  magnetic  charm  for  the  little  folks  that, 
combined  with  their  delight  in  their  presents,  the 
room  was  positively  filled  with  a  perfect  glory  of 
sunshine  and  gladness.  I  declare  it  was  really 
beautiful  to  see  them  all  standing  up,  the  smallest 
ones  in  front — and  rows  of  bright  faces  rising  one 
above  the  other  behind,  and  blending  their  voices — 
tiny,  tinier,  and  tiniest,  but  all  joyous  and  hearty 
voices — in  a  hymn  : 

All  things  bright  and  beautiful, 

All  creatures  great  and  small ; 
All  things  wise  and  wonderful, 

The  Lord  God  made  them  all. 

The  music  was  not  absolutely  perfect  in  time 
and  tune,  but  it  really  was  not  the  worse  for  that ; 
nor  was  every  figure  in  the  group  as  beautiful  and 
graceful  as  Greenough's  Chanting  Cherubs — though 
there  were  faces  there  as  fine  as  any  Greenough 
ever  dreamed  of;  but  the  whole  effect  was  high 
above  any  art  of  sculptor  or  painter  to  produce." 

"  But  what  did  you  say  to  the  children,  hus 
band  ?  " 


68  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

'  Well,  I  dare  say  it  would  have  seemed  very 
queer  talk  to  many  persons  ;  it  would  have  made 
Mr.  G-rim  look  more  grim,  and   Miss  Prim  more 
prim,  if  they  had  been   there.      But  I  told  the 
children  I  was  glad  to  see  them  so  glad  about  their 
books — that   children   did   not    formerly   have    so 
many  books  as  they  have  now,  but  I  was  not  sure 
they  were  any  the  worse  off ;  for  the  few  they  had 
were  better  read,  and  so  did  them  more  good, — 
while  now  they  had  so  many  there  was  danger  they 
would  read  more  than  they  could  read  in  a  way  to 
make  their  minds  grow  ; — that  it  was  a  great  deal 
better  to  read  a  few  books  over  and  over,  again  and 
again,  than  to  run  hastily  through  a  great  many ; 
— and,  besides,  there  were  a  great  many  books  for 
children   nowadays,  written  with   a  very  good  in 
tention,  that  were  very  poor  stuff — not  half  so  good 
for  them  as  some  of  those  old  ones  which  some  very 
wise  people   now  think  so   foolish  :    that    Mother 
Goose's  Melodies,  and  Cock  Robin,  and  Jack  o'  the 
Bean   Stalk,  and  Jack  the  Giant  Killer,  and  Cin 
derella,  and   Beauty  and  the    Beast,  and  J^sop's 
Fables  with   the   Cuts,   and  Berquin's    Children's 
Friend,  and   the    Treasury  of  Choice    Old   Fairy 
Tales,  and  the   Story  of  Poor  Joseph,  and  Kobin- 
son  Crusoe,  and  Sinbad  the  Sailor,  were  a  library 


ATGREYSTONES.  69 

for  little  folks  which  none  of  the  wise  modern  books 
could  make  up  for  the  want  of— and  I  was  glad  to 
see  them  among  their  books  ;  though  some  of  the 
new  books  were  indeed  as  wise  and  good  for  them 
as  any  thing  that  could  possibly  be  imagined — such 
as  Hans  Andersen's  Stories,  and  Masterman  Eeady, 
and  the  Settlers  in  Canada,  and  Sir  Edward  Sew- 
ard's  Narrative,  and  that  exquisite  little  book,  A 
Trap  to  Catch  a  Sunbeam,  and  other  equally  beau 
tiful  stories  by.  the  same  hand,  and  the  Boy  Mis 
sionary,  and  the  Ministering  Children,  and  some 
others  that   I  could  name — and  I  was  glad  to  see 
them  among  the  books  to-day  ;  only  this  they  must 
remember,  that  the  more  they  read  such  books  as 
the  last  two,  the  more  dead  their  consciences  would 
become,  and  the  harder  their  hearts,  if  they  did  not 
try  in  some  way,  according  to  their  opportunities, 
to  imitate  the  good  examples  which  touched  their 
tender  feelings  so  deeply  ; — and  as  to  the  rest,  they 
must  have  nothing  to  do  with  such  books  as  Pro 
fessor    Savethought's    Truth    Brought    Down,   his 
Philosophy  Made   Easy,    and  Great  Things  Made 
Small ;  nor  with  Mr.  Silley's  Series  :    the  Child's 
Book  of  Physiology,  of  Natural  Theology,  and  the 
rest ;  nor  with  Mrs.  Softly's  Childish  Hymns  ;  nor 
Mrs.   Scarem'G  Awfulness  of  Infant  Sin,  and   Sad 


DOCTOR    OLDHAM 


Fate  of  the   Little    Sabbath   Breakers,  nor   Miss 
Sharp's  Profitableness  of  Piety— showing  the  wis 
dom  of  serving  God  because ,  He  pays  better  than 
the  Evil  One  ;— that  they  must  never   look   into 
those    books  ;    and;  in  fine,  they  must  speak  the 
truth,  obey   their  parents,  love  their  brothers  and 
sisters,  be  kind  to  everybody,  say  their  prayers,  and 
remember  always  that  they  were  God's  children  and 
not  the  Devil's  ;  and  that  God  loved  to  see  them 
play  if  they  played  fair,  and  loved  to  have  them 
have  a  good  time  playing  as  often  as  they  could  get 
it,  provided  they  did  not  neglect  any  duty  or  do 
any  thing  wrong  ;— that  they  should  always  try  to 
do  right  because  it  was  right,  and  not  merely  for 
any  thing  they  might  hope  to  gain  by  it,  whether 
from  God  or  from  others  ;  and  never  to  do  wrong 
because  it  was  wrong,  and  not  merely  from  fear  of 
what  might  come  of  it  either  here  or  hereafter  ; — 
that  the  Good  Lord  loved  them  dearly,  and  had  not 
a  thought  or  a  wish  about  them,  but  to  have  them 
good,  and  happy  here  and  forever,  and  they  should 
therefore  live  as  His  dear  children,  and  try  to  please 
Him  out  of  love  ; — that  they  could  not  be  good 
without  His  help,  any  more  than  they  could  lift 
themselves  over  the  river  in  a  basket ; — that  it  was 
sometimes  hard  to  be  good,  harder  for  some  than 


ATGREYSTONES.  71 

for  others,  because  their  nature  was  not  as  favora 
ble,  (some  being  naturally  more  prone  than  others 
to  get  angry  or  out  of  patience,  or  to  be  sullen  or 
resentful,  or  vain,  or  proud,  or  selfish  and  self- 
willed,  or  idle  and  unsteady,)  but  God  did  not 
think  any  the  worse  of  them  on  that  account,  pro 
vided  they  honestly  tried  to  be  good ;  indeed,  the 
harder  they  found  it,  the  more  God  was  pleased 
with  them,  if  only  they  tried  the  more  earnestly  ; — 
and  they  must  not  be  discouraged,  or  afraid  of  God, 
if  they  should  sometimes  stumble  and  fall  into 
wrong  (as  most  likely  they  would),  but  be  sorry, 
and  keep  on  striving  to  do  right,  and  be  sure  that 
God  would  then  love  them  just  as  tenderly,  and 
forgive  them,  and  make  all  allowance  for  them,  just 
as  loving  fathers  and  mothers  always  do,  and  they 
would  certainly  succeed  at  last,  for  God's  Good 
Spirit  was  in  all  their  hearts  to  help  every  one  to 
become  good  that  honestly  tried,  and  kept  on  try 
ing. 

"  There,  Mrs.  Oldham,  that  is  the  substance 
of  my  talk  to  the  little  folks — not  a  phonographic 
record,  but  a  pretty  fair  report — and  how  do  you 
like  it  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  very  good,"  said  she,  "  but  it 
sounds  very  different  from  Mr.  Grim's  preaching. 


DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

He  speaks  of  God  in  sucli  a  way  as  to  frighten 
children  from  trusting  Him,  and  so  makes  it  im 
possible  for  them  to  love  Him  ;  they  cannot  help 
thinking  of  Him  as  austere,  morose,  and  terribly 
strict  —  a  foe  to  all  innocent  mirth  and  merri 
ment." 

"  It  is  all  along  of  his  mistaken  notions  of  good 
ness,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "and  partly  of  his  nat 
ural  temper,  and  partly  of  his  unhappy  instruction, 
that  he  has  such  mistaken  notions.  He  mistakes 
sanctimony  for  saintliness,  strictness  for  religiousness  ; 
and  so  it  is  nothing  strange  he  should  have  a  God 
after  the  fashion  of  such  ideas.  His  way  of  repre 
senting  God  was  once  characterized  by  one  of  a 
company  of  soldiers,  after  I  had  been  speaking  to 
them  of  God's  love  for  them  notwithstanding  the  low 
rank  they  held  in  the  estimation  of  men,  and  how 
ever  deeply  they  might  have  fallen  in  moral  degra 
dation.  The  man  thanked  me  for  what  I  had  said, 
observing  that  most  of  those  who  preached  to  them, 
spoke  as  if  Christ  might  be  their  friend,  but  they 
must  beware  of  God. 

"  I  told  him  I  was  sorry  they  should  ever  be  so 
taught. 

" '  Sir/  said  he,  '  they  make  God  a  Police 
Sergeant ! ' 


ATGREYSTONES.  73 

"  That  was  the  poor  fellow's  own  title  and  func 
tion  at  the  post  where  his  troop  was  stationed." 

"  What  is  the  function  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Olclham. 

"  To  keep  a  sharp  look-out  on  the  men,  and 
bring  them  up  for  punishment  for  all  neglect  or 
infraction  of  orders/'  replied  the  Doctor. 

"  But  how  good  God  is.  At  first,  thought  it 
would  seem  one  of  the  rnournfullest  things  in  the 
world  that  the  little  folks  should  be  deprived  of  the 
sweet  influence  of  right  instruction — the  blessed 
sense  that  they  are  God's  dearly-loved  children; 
and  subjected  to  such  teaching  as  Mr.  Grirn's — 
made  to  think  themselves  the  children  of  the  Evil 
One,  and  sure  to  fall  into  his  clutches  at  the  last, 
unless  they  should  happen  to  be  among  the  elect 
— which  it  was  ten  to  one  they  were  not.  One 
would  think  their  young  life  would  be  overshadowed 
and  chilled  to  its  very  centre,  by  the  great  black 
horror  of  such  a  creed. 

"  But  God  takes  care  it  shall  not  be  so. 

"  If  you  chance  to  come  upon  a  troop  of  those 
little  ones  out  of  doors  at  school  recess,  you  will 
see  them  running,  and  scampering,  and  kicking 
up  their  heels  like  young  colts  let  loose,  and  filling 
the  air  with  the  merry  ring  of  their  shouts  and 
laughter.  A  strange  spectacle  and  a  frightful  one 


74  DOCTOR     OLD  HAM 

— in  a  right  logical  consideration  of  the  creed  they 
are  taught — to  see  the  doomed  little  wretches  so 
joyous  and  thoughtless  amidst  the  terrific  chances 
of  their  fate  ! 

"  But  God;  the  true  loving  God,  is  stronger  in 
their  hearts  than  their  Catechism,  setting  forth  a 
God  worse  than  none,  by  all  the  difference  between 
a  bad  one  and  none. 

"  Let  us  rejoice  it  is  so. 

"  Let  us  be  thankful  that  such  unwholesome 
instructions  enter  so  little  into  the  life  circulation 
of  children's  hearts,  but  roll  off,  for  the  most  part, 
like  the  little  pellets  of  hail  from  the  windows, 
without  any  adhesion  at  all." 

"  But,  husband,  do  you  think  that  the  parents 
and  elders  really  hold  any  such  terrible  doctrines  ?  " 

"  Well,  they  think  they  do  ;  some  of  them  only 
think  they  do,  but  in  reality  do  not — they  hold 
only  the  words  ;  some  perhaps  hold  the  doctrines, 
but  without  seeing  or  believing  in  the  consequences. 
Which  is  another  blessed  thing.  Then,  too,  being 
fathers  and  mothers  has  a  wonderful  influence  :  it 
is  one  of  God's  contrivances  in  behalf  of  little 
children.  He  takes  care  that  there  shall  be  a 
blessed  inconsistency  between  a  mother's  head  and 
a  mother's  heart,  between  a  father's  creed  and  a 


ATGREYSTONES.  75 

father's  love  :  and  so  through  God's  love  in  them 
and  their  parents7  love  surrounding  them,  the  little 
ones  get  a  chance  for  a  joyous  childhood — unless  in 
the  midst  of  very  unhappy  outward  circumstances. 
0  when  will  all  those  be  friendly  !  I  never  think 
of  the  social  life  of  highly  civilized  nations,  with  so 
much  sorrow  for  its  evils  in  any  of  its  other  rela 
tions,  as  in  its  bearing  upon  the  unfolding  of  child 
hood." 


76  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 


CHAPTER     IX. 

MORE    TALK   ABOUT    CHILDREN. THE    GOOD    LORD'S     CONTRIVANCES    TO 

PREVENT   THEIR    BEING    SHUT    OUT    OP   THE   WORLD    OP   FICTION. 

MRS.  OLDHAM  had  been  sitting  for  some  time  in 
silence,  her  scissors  busily  running  in  and  out  the 
indented  edge  of  a  collar  she  was  trimming  for 
Lilly.  Fred  and  his  sister  were  on  the  other  side 
of  the  table,  each  absorbed  in  reading — the  one 
Ivanhoe,  the  other  Miss  Yonge's  beautiful  tale  of 
Heart's  Ease.  The  Doctor  was  looking  over  the 
newspaper. 

"  Husband,"  said  Mrs.  Oldham  at  length,  cast 
ing  her  eyes  upon  the  children,  "  how  different  the 
feeling  among  good  people  now  from  what  it  used 
to  be  about  novels  and  works  of  fiction." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "they  did  not 
understand,  in  the  days  of  your  grandmother,  that 
it  is  through  the  world  of  fiction  children  first  enter 
into  the  divine  and  eternal  world." 


AT     GREYS  TONES.  77 

"  Dear  me  !  husband,  I  am  afraid  I  don't  un 
derstand  you/'  returned  his  wife. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear ;  I  was  absurdly 
transcendental  in  phrase.  I  mean  that  it  is  from 
true  fiction — from  the  living  products  of  the  creat 
ive  imagination,,  children  get  their  first  ideas  of  the 
wonderful,  of  a  world  out  of  nature,  the  supernat 
ural  and  divine.  True  and  pure  fiction  is  the 
purest  truth — the  natural  and  necessary  aliment 
for  the  young  imagination,  through  the  quickening 
of  which  faculty  alone  the  other  faculties  of  mind 
and  heart  are  best  unfolded,  even  if  they  can  be  at 
all  unfolded  in  any  other  way." 

"A  sad  time  then,  in  those  old  days,  for  the 
unfolding  of  the  young  mind  and  heart,"  said  Mrs. 
Oldham  ;  "  almost  a  hopeless  case." 

"  So  one  would  say  at  first  thought,"  replied 
the  Doctor ;  "  but  God  watches  over  the  little 
ones.  He  contrives  compensations  and  protections 
where  they  are  concerned.  He  does  not  let  mon 
strous  doctrines  and  pious  absurdities  of  prejudice 
altogether  prevail  over  common  sense  and  the  im 
pulses  of  love  in  parents'  hearts. 

"  In  those  days  children  were  indeed  made  to 
study  the  Westminster  Catechism  for  their  Sunday 
(or  as  they  called  it  Sabbath)  lessons.  Kobinson 


78  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

Crusoe  would  have  been  much  better  Sunday  read 
ing  for  them  ;  they  would  really  have  gotten  some 
thing  from  it  —  something  good  and  quickening  to 
true  religious  feeling  in  their  hearts.  But  then, 
God  be  thanked,  neither  the  children  nor,  for  the 
most  part,  their  parents  understood  the  Catechism  : 
so  the  harm  was  small  —  rather  in  the  good  they 
did  not  get  than  in  the  harm  they  did. 

"  But  (as  I  said)  there  were  compensations  for 
the  little  people.  For  the  younger  ones  the 
Primer,  which  contained  the  Catechism,  contained 
many  things  besides  —  things  that  young  and 
healthy  minds  could  contrive  to  grow  upon.  There 
was  that  wonderful  alphabet  with  its  picture  and 
couplet  of  verses  to  each  letter,  of  which  I  remem 
ber  nothing  bad  but  the  opening  : 


In  jQ^dam's  Fall, 
We  sinned  all. 

"  This  might  have  done  the  children  harm  if 
they  had  understood  and  believed,  or  tried  to  be 
lieve  the  meaning  it  was  framed  to  convey,  or  at 
least  it  might  have  perplexed  and  troubled  their 
young  thoughts.  But  I  don't  think  they  got  any 
insight  of  that  meaning,  and  so  no  harm  ;  nor 
would  they,  I  think,  if  the  couplet  had  been  turned 


ATGKEYSTONES.  79 

into  a  quatrain  by  adding — what  might  with  equal 
truth  be  added  : 

In  Qain  his  Murthur, 
We  sinned  further. 

"  There  too  was  the  moving  ballad  of  the  burn 
ing  of  John  Rogers,  and  the  still  more  moving  pic 
ture  of  his  wife  and  nine  small  children  around  him 
at  the  stake — the  children's  heads  going  down  just 
like  the  steps  of  stairs  from  biggest  to  least;  except 
the  littlest  one  that  was  carried  at  the  mother's 
breast.  Other  things  there  were  too  in  that  Primer 
which  (without  any  purpose  or  consciousness,  you 
may  be  sure,  on  the  part  of  its  makers)  had  the 
genial  effect  of  good  fiction  on  the  childish  mind 
and  heart. 

"  Then,  too,  the  children,  both  younger  and 
older,  had  the  range  of  the  Bible— perhaps  the 
great  Family  Bible,  containing  sometimes  most  re 
markable  wood  cuts  or  engravings,  and  even  per 
haps  the  Apocrypha,  a  marvellous  addition  to  their 
treasures,  although  some  of  them  were  not  allowed 
to  read  it  on  the  Sabbath.  The  Bible  !  full  of 
stories — all  novels  and  tales  to  children — some  of 
them  indeed  not  so  suitable  and  salutary  for  chil 
dren  as  Robinson  Crusoe  and  other  novels  that 


80  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

might  be  named,  but  very  many  of  them  of  such 
beauty  and  interest  as  no  other  book  can  surpass  : 
the  stories  of  Joseph  ;  of  Kuth  ;  of  Little  Samuel ; 
of  David  and  Goliath  ;  of  Daniel ;  of  Jonah  ; — and 
those  parables  of  our  Lord,  the  Good  Samaritan 
and  the  Prodigal  Son,  which  make  little  people's 
eyes  fill  up  and  run  over  with  sympathetic  tears, 
so  much  do  they  quicken  the  imaginative  faculty 
and  touch  the  heart. 

"  Then  for  week  days  there  was  the  blessed 
nonsense  of  Mother  Goose's  Melodies,  which  the 
Good  Lord  (I  cannot  but  think)  took  special  care, 
through  his  hold  on  the  instincts  of  mothers'  hearts, 
that  no  black  doctrines  of  predestination  and  de 
crees,  and  no  puritanical  sourness  of  sanctimony 
should  deprive  the  little  ones  of ;  and  as  they  grew 
bigger,  there  were  -ZEsop's  Fables,  with  those  won 
derful  woodcuts,  in  the  Spelling  Books,  where  were 
stories  too — such  as  the  story  of  Poor  Joseph  (who 
had  so  many  children  to  feed  and  so  little  to  feed 
them  with)  and  his  little  boy,  who  thought  he  would 
not  eat  his  share  of  the  bread,  but  die  and  go  to 
God,  that  there  might  be  more  for  his  brothers  and 
sisters — a  story  that  has  drawn  many  a  tear  from 
many  eyes  ; — and  other  stories,  more  than  I  can  men 
tion — all  of  them  novels  and  tales  and  romances  to 


ATGEEYSTONES.  81 

the  young.  Besides  this — and  it  seems  to  have 
been  a  special  '  dispensation  of  Providence '  in 
favor  of  the  young — it  almost  always  happened,  in 
some  mysterious  way,  by  nobody's  procurement  in 
particular,  there  went  circulating  through  every 
neighborhood,  stray  copies  of  Cinderella  or  the 
Glass  Slipper,  Beauty  and  the  Beast,  the  Transfor 
mations  of  Indus,  Aladdin's  Wonderful  Lamp,  and 
Sinbad's  Voyages,  which  somehow  the  pious  fathers 
and  mothers  failed  to  see  belonged  to  the  class  of 
books  prohibited  ;  and  so  the  little  ones  got  those 
ideas  of  the  wonderful  and  supernatural  which, 
entering  the  childish  mind  through  the  imagination, 
in  the  garb  of  fiction,  prepare  it  for  divine  eternal 
truths.  Then  too,  God  be  thanked,  there  were  but 
few  children,  in  New  England  at  least,  that  did  not 
in  some  way,  through  His  contrivance,  get  hold 
of  Kobinson  Crusoe — the  most  fascinating  of  human 
books  to  children  at  a  proper  age  ;  of  the  reading 
whereof  observant  persons  would  find  proof  in  num 
berless  islands,  not  surrounded  by  water,  where 
shipwrecked  little  people  built  huts  and  played  at 
Crusoe  and  his  man  Friday  with  great  delight, 
while  their  minds  unfolded  and  grew  in  the  joyous 
activity  of  their  play. 

"So   it   may   be   seen   what    providences    and 
40 


82  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

what  compensations  there  were  for  children  in 
those  days  when  story  books  were  few;  and  good 
people's  thoughts  restrictive  and  austere." 

"  Well,  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Oldham,  "  though 
one  should  be  glad  the  prejudice  against  fiction 
as  such  no  longer  prevails,  yet  it  seems  to  me  chil 
dren  are  nowadays  exposed  to  very  great  perils  of 
another  sort,  against  which  there  are  not  so  many 
kindly  providences  and  protections.  You  would 
not  like  our  children  to  have  free  range  through  the 
fictitious  literature  of  the  age  ?  " 

"By  no  means,  my  dear — certainly  not  while 
their  taste  and  principles  were  unformed.  Even 
if  there  were  no  bad  books  to  be  avoided,  I  should 
be  sorry  to  have  them  lose  the  proper  cultivating 
effect  of  works  of  true  creative  genius,  by  forgetting 
that  '  half  is  bigger  than  the  whole/  as  old  Hesiod 
says. 

"  Phil,  my  dear,  may  be  safely  left  to  himself. 
He  never  reads  for  mere  story.  His  good  taste  is 
as  unerring  as  instinct  ;  I  have  been  surprised  to 
notice  how  it  leads  him  to  avoid  every  thing  that  is 
not  either  of  the  choicest  quality,  or  else  for  some 
reason  necessary  to  be  read  by  every  man  of  liberal 
culture. 

"  But  as  to  Lilly  and  Fred,  they  devour  books 


ATGBEYSTONES.  83 

for  the  mere  pleasurable  excitement  of  story,  adven 
ture,  or  incident.  We  must  look  well  aftei  them, 
not  only  to  keep  them  from  books  that  are  bad, 
but  from  too  many  that  are  good/' 


The  curious  reader,  impatient  to  know  more 
about  the  Doctor,  may  think  this  chapter  and  the 
last  one,  a  great  breach  of  good  faith  and  of  the 
promise  made  two  chapters  before. 

But,  in  the  first  place,  let  him  consider  the  res 
ervation  with  which  the  promise  was  made.  Then 
let  him  read  the  next  chapter,  and  he  will  see  that 
he  is  indebted  to  these  for  the  information  he  will 
find  in  that.  For  it  led  the  Doctor  on  to  speak  of 
himself,  and  what  he  said  gave  me  something  to 
relate  of  his  personal  life  before  I  knew  him. 


84  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 


CHAPTER   X. 

GLIMPSES  BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  AUTO-BIOGRAPHICAL WITH  OBSERVA 
TIONS  INTERSPERSED  THAT  ARE  WORTH  A  CHAPTER  IN  THEM 
SELVES. 

"  THERE  can  "be  no  greater  blessing,"  continued 
the  Doctor,  after  musing  for  a  while,  "  than  to  be 
born  in  the  light  and  air  of  a  cheerful,  loving  home. 
It  not  only  ensures  a  happy  childhood — if  there  be 
health  and  a  good  constitution — but  it  almost 
makes  sure  a  virtuous  and  happy  manhood,  and  a 
fresh  young  heart  in  old  age.  I  think  it  every 
parent's  duty  to  try  to  make  their  children's  child 
hood  full  of  love  and  of  childhood's  proper  joyous- 
ness  ;  and  I  never  see  children  destitute  of  them 
through  the  poverty,  faulty  tempers,  or  wrong 
notions  of  their  parents,  without  a  heartache.  Not 
that  all  the  appliances  which  wealth  can  buy  are 
necessary  to  the  free  and  happy  unfolding  of  child 
hood  in  body,  mind,  or  heart — quite  otherwise,  God 


AT     GREY  STONES.  85 

be  thanked  ;  but  children  must  at  least  have  love 
inside  the  house,  and  fresh  air  and  good  play  and 
some  good  companionship  outside — otherwise  young 
life  runs  the  greatest  danger  in  the  world  of  with 
ering  or  growing  stunted,  or  sour  and  wrong,  or  at 
best  prematurely  old  and  turned  inward  on  itself. 

"  My  childhood  was  healthy  and  happy — a  free 
and  joyous  beginning  of  life,  with  plenty  of  love 
and  good  books  inside  the  house,  and  plenty  of 
fresh  air  and  good  play  outside,  with  boys  and  dogs, 
and  ponies  and  kites,  and  hoops  and  footballs,  and 
skates  and  sleds.  All  these  blessings,  I  thank  God  " 
— said  the  Doctor,  reverently  looking  upward — 
"  were  mine  in  abundance." 

I  saw  the  Doctor's  thoughts  were  going  back 
over  the  past ;  so  I  ventured  an  inquiry  about  his 
father,  thinking  he  might  be  in  a  communicative 
mood.  He  was  so,  and  went  on. 

"My  father  (for  whom  our  oldest  boy,  Philip, 
is  named)  came  to  this  country  from  England  near 
the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  and  settled 
in  the  city  of  Boston,  where  he  devoted  himself  first 
to  the  study,  and  afterwards  to  the  practice  of  the 
law.  After  a  few  years  he  married  a  Boston 
woman,  the  daughter  of  a  distinguished  member 
•>f  the  bar,  as  admirable  for  her  domestic  virtues  as 


86  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

for  the  charms  of  her  person  and  mind.  Following 
his  English  tastes,  he  fixed  his  home  in  a  pleasant 
villa  at  Brookline,  a  little  way  out  of  town,  but 
near  enough  for  convenient  access  to  his  office. 
There  I  was  born,  in  the  last  year  of  the  admin 
istration  of  Thomas  Jefferson. 

"  I  consider  my  father  to  have  been  one  of  the 
happiest  and  most  fortunate  of  men.  He  thought 
so  himself.  He  had  his  own  notions  of  the  condi 
tions  of  a  happy  life  ;  and  they  were  all  combined 
in  his  case.  He  had,  first,  uniform  good  health — 
the  sort  of  good  health  and  the  spirits  attending  it, 
which  result  from  a  good  constitution  and  good 
habits,  particularly  abundant  exercise  in  the  open 
air,  mostly  on  horseback,  in  which  sort  of  exercise 
he  took  great  pleasure.  Then  again,  he  had  some 
thing  to  do  which  he  liked  to  do  :  he  liked  his  pro 
fession — for  the  play  of  his  faculties-  it  demanded 
and  gave  scope  to,  and  for  the  connection  into 
which  it  brought  him  with  the  eminent  men  of  his 
own  degree.  He  was  in  the  next  place,  free  from 
ambition,  avarice  and  envy — and  blest  with  a  com 
petence  that  left  him  without  a  care.  And  finally, 
to  crown  all,  his  life  was  rounded  with  love  :  he 
was  married  to  the  woman  he  loved,  fitly  mated 
with  one  who  was  to  him  a  most  true  and  loving 


AT     GREYS  TONES.  87 

wife  ;  they  had  loving  children,  dear  to  them  both  ; 
and  a  happy  home,  where  no  cloud  of  peevishness  or 
ill-humor  ever  darkened  the  sunshine. 

"  My  father  came  to  this  country  with  strong 
democratic  notions,  imbibed  from  his  intercourse 
with  Eobert  Southey,  with  whom  he  formed  a 
friendship  at  Oxford  that  lasted  through  life. 
There  he  came  also  to  share  his  friend's  scruples 
about  subscription  to  the  articles,  which  involved 
the  loss  of  a  rich  ecclesiastical  living  in  the  gift  of 
the  family,  that  had  been  destined  for  him,  and  put 
him  upon  the  necessity  of  turning  to  some  other 
career,  and  probably,  in  connection  with  his  polit 
ical  predilections  (so  much  at  variance  with  the 
good  old  Church  and  State  sentiments  of  his 
family),  inspired  him  with  the  idea  of  coming  to 
this  country. 

"  Time,  and  observation  of  the  practical  working 
of  our  institutions,  disenchanted  him  of  whatever 
was  fantastic  and  extravagant  in  the  opinions  he 
had  formed — yet  without  the  reaction  carrying  him 
quite  so  far  in  the  opposite  direction  as  his  friend 
Southey  went.  He  came  to  see  quite  clearly  that 
there  is  no  charm  or  magic  virtue  in  a  mere  form  of 
government ; — that  the  form  is  nothing  in  itself ; — 
that  the  best  government  is  that  which  is  best 


88  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

fitted  for  the  people  ; — that  of  free  governments  the 
English  is  best  for  the  English,  and  ours  for  us — 
provided  it  shall  turn  out  there  is  wisdom  and  vir 
tue  enough  in  our  people  to  make  it  the  best.  All 
which  are  the  veriest  common-places  of  sensible  opin 
ion  nowadays,  but  which  it  needed  a  sensible  man 
to  arrive  at  gradually  at  that  time,  if  in  the  fervor 
of  generous  youth,  through  hatred  of  despotism  and 
oppression,  he  had  been  led  to  adopt  such  notions 
of  popular  rights,  democratic  institutions,  and  social 
regeneration,  as  my  father  had  imbibed. 

"  In  my  seventeenth  year,  my  father,  who  had 
twice  before  visited  England  alone,  took  my  mother 
and  the  children  with  him,  to  see  their  relatives 
there.  His  father,  the  Dean,  was  delighted  to  see 
us  all :  and  my  father's  conversion  from  what  the 
good  Dean  naturally  regarded  as  the  deplorable 
errors  of  his  early  notions  on  religion  and  govern 
ment,  gave  him  unbounded  satisfaction. 

"  My  father's  grandfather,  Sir  Oldham  Oldham, 
of  Oldham  Hall,  a  Baronet  of  very  ancient  family, 
had  gone  to  his  forefathers  with  undiminished  faith 
in  the  intimate  and  indissoluble  relation  between 
the  existence  of  the  universe  and  the  house  of  Old- 
ham — a  faith  that  had  been  reverently  handed 
down  from  a  remote  Saxon  ancestry.  But  luckily 


AT     GREYSTONES.  89 

for  the  universe,  and  particularly  for  that  part  of  it 
within  his  orbit,  it  was  also  a  point  of  honor  with 
him  to  look  upon  his  position  and  wealth  as  digni 
ties  and  trusts  to  be  upheld  and  discharged,  rather 
than  as  mere  personal  possessions  ;  so  he  took  all 
possible  care  and  pains  to  be,  and  in  point  of  fact 
was  (not,  however,  without  much  formal  amplitude 
of  speech  and  procedure)  an  upright  and  useful 
magistrate  and  a  good  landlord,  and  was  in  turn 
much  respected  by  his  country  neighbors,  and  look 
ed  up  to  with  profound  reverence  and  affection  by 
the  numerous  tenants  and  laborers  within  his  broad 
manorial  bounds. 

"The  vicarage  of  Oldham,  which  my  father's 
scruples  had  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  take, 
had  been  given  to  a  cousin  of  his.  For  more  than 
three  hundred  years  it  had  been  as  much  a  matter 
of  course  to  see  an  Oldham  at  the  Vicarage  as  at 
the  Hall.  That  was  the  family  way  of  making  it 
all  right  about  the  great  tithes.  What  if  these 
went  to  the  Hall  ?  The  Hall  gave  the  parish  an 
Oldham  for  vicar.  Was  not  that  better  than  a 
parson  sent  to  them  by  some  Lord  Chancellor,  or 
other  remote  patron  ?  So  from  generation  to  gen 
eration  some  younger  son  of  the  house  of  Oldham 
had  been  duly  sent  to  Oxford,  and  duly  brought 


90  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

back  to  the  incumbency  of  Oldhara  vicarage — 
which,  in  spite  of  the  impropriation  of  the  tithes, 
was  still  a  very  ample  and  dignified  living.  My 
grandfather  the  Dean  had  held  it,  and  it  had  been 
destined  (as  I  have  said)  for  my  father,  as  soon  as 
he  should  have  finished  his  Oxford  studies.  My 
father's  turn  of  mind  which  prevented  his  taking  it 
was  a  sore  disappointment  to  his  father  and  grand 
father,  and  a  mortification  to  all  the  Oldhams  :  it 
had  never  entered  into  the  mind  of  any  of  them  to 
conceive  the  like  before.  But  this  soreness  was  all 
over  now  ;  and  we  found  ourselves  welcome  guests 
everywhere — at  Christ  Church,  at  the  Vicarage,  and 
at  Oldham  Hall,  where  my  father's  uncle,  a  new 
Sir  Oldham  Oldham,  had  succeeded  to  the  dignities 
and  duties  of  the  head  of  the  house. 

(  When  the  time  came  for  returning  home,  my 
grandfather  prevailed  to  have  me  left  behind  to 
finish  my  studies  at  Oxford  under  his  particular 
direction  ;  so  I  remained  for  four  happy  years 
within  the  walls  of  old  Christ  Church.  The  good 
old  man  was  full  of  kindness,  and  if  he  could  have 
had  his  way,  would  have  kept  me  in  England,  be 
lieving  there  was  no  academical,  ecclesiastical,  or 
civil  dignity,  to  which  with  my  abilities  (as  he  was 
pleased  to  say),  and  the  family  influence,  I  might 


ATGKEYSTONES.  91 

not  aspire.  But  my  heart  bid  me  back  to  my 
native  land,  and  to  the  happy  home  of  my  child 
hood — to  which  I  returned,  glad  to  find  all  well 
there,  and  glad  to  be  gladly  welcomed  back." 

The  Doctor  paused,  and  fell  into  a  musing  mood, 
which  lasted  for  some  time — his  thoughts,  as  I  fan 
cied,  running  along  over  his  life  since  those  youthful 
days.  At  length  he  broke  silence  : 

"How  worse  than  empty  is  a  life  of  selfish 
struggle  !  To  be  born  to  an  eminent  place,  with 
great  work  to  do — that  is  something  which  those 
whose  faculties  fit  them  for  the  place  and  work 
may  perhaps  thank  Grod  for,  though  it  has  its 
great  temptations.  To  be  carried  upward  into 
the  high  places  of  the  earth  and  invested  with 
its  distinctions  and  honors,  without  a  selfish  seek 
ing  for  them,  but  merely  in  the  sequel  and  result 
of  brave  and  noble  doing  of  the  duty  put  upon  us 
by  God  and  man — like  Washington — is  something 
to  be  accepted  with  magnanimity,  or  enjoyed  with 
modest  satisfaction,  according  to  one's  temperament 
and  tastes.  To  seek  even  a  noble  and  lofty  sphere 
of  public  action  at  the  prompting  of  a  great  and 
energetic  nature,  conscious  of  abilities  to  render 
good  service  to  one's  country  or  to  mankind  and 


92  DOCTOEOLDHAM 

of  the  impulse  to  do  so — this  is  something  I  shall 
not  disparage  or  contemn.  But  a  life  of  mere 
self-seeking  vanity  and  pride — engendering  envy, 
ill  will,  and  all  evil  passions — wretched  if  success 
crown  not  its  selfish  struggles,  and  not  made 
blessed  by  any  success — what  a  miserable  thing  it 
is  !  What  is  life  worth  without  inward  peace  ? 
Which  no  selfish  life  can  give." 

"  But  you  have  no  life  of  selfish  struggles,  suc 
cessful  or  unsuccessful,  to  look  back  over,"  said  I. 

"I  thank  God,  no/'  replied  the  Doctor  :  "if  I 
have  aspired  to  but  little  and  done  but  little,  I 
have  no  disappointed  ambitions  to  embitter  the 
recollections  of  the  past/' 


ATGREYSTONES.  93 


CHAPTER    XI. 

HOW    NATURE     SHOWS     HER     GLADNESS. — JUNE     AND    JUNEFULNESS. — 
WHEN    A    NOSE     IS    A    GOOD    THING. — IS    IT    AN    ORGAN    FOR  THE 

BEAUTIFUL. THE      GLORIES      OF      OCTOBER. NATURE'S     PICTURE 

GALLERY. ART   AND    ITS    LIMITATIONS. MRS.    OLDHAM    ASKS    TWO 

VERY    GREAT    QUESTIONS. 

MRS.  OLDHAM  had  been  away  for  ten  days,  on  a 
visit  to  her  mother.  The  Doctor  had  been  quite 
dull  and  stupid  for  the  last  two  or  three  days  ;  but 
his  mopishness  vanished  with  his  wife's  return. 
She  came  back  towards  evening,  just  at  the  moment 
when  one  of  those  wonderfully  gorgeous  and  beau 
tiful  sunset  scenes  was  kindling  up;  which  we 
have  so  often  up  here,  particularly  at  this  season 
of  the  year. 

"  See,"  said  the  Doctor,  leading  his  wife  to  the 
west  window  of  the  library,  "  how  glad  nature  is  to 
have  you  back  again.  Not  that  we  are  not  all  as 
glad  as  nature  is ;  but  we  cannot  express  it  in  such 


94  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

a  rich  grand  way.  See,  the  hills  and  the  sky  across 
the  river  are  all  aglow  with  many^hued  blushes  of 
delight — blue,  gold,  orange-colored  and  purple 
gleams  of  joy  mantling  the  old  rugged  weather- 
beaten  faces  of  the  hills  !  " 

"  Nature  is  very  obliging,  as  well  as  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Oldham  ;  "  she  is  very  apt  to  conform  her 
expression  to  the  mood  of  feeling  with  which  one 
looks  at  her.  But  that  is  a  glorious  sight." 

The  next  forenoon  we  were  standing — Mrs. 
Oldham,  the  Doctor,  and  myself — in  the  veranda 
that  shades  the  west  end  of  the  library,  and  which 
is  built  around  it  in  a  corresponding  semi-octagonal 
shape.  It  was  one  of  the  finest  of  October  days. 
The  Doctor's  spirits  were  as  brisk  as  a  bobolink. 

"  Mrs.  Oldham,"  said  he,  "  how  bright  and 
calmly  joyous  nature  is.  What  a  mild  satisfaction 
rests  on  her  countenance.  You  can  see  it  through 
the  thin  haze  veil  she  has  thrown  over  her  face  to 
soften  the  light  of  the  cloudless  sun.  It  is  all 
along  of  your  return." 

"  What  a  beautiful  month  October  is/'  said  she. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  no  month  in  the 
year,  on  the  whole,  is  more  agreeable  to  me  than 
October  mostly  is  in  this  part  of  the  world.  It  has 


ATGREYSTONES.  95 

not  the  special  charm  of  May — the  delicious  feeling 
of  soft,  genial  airs,  after  the  sharp  winds  of  March 
and  the  miserable  chills  that  sometimes  go  through 
your  bones  and  marrow  in  April.  It  is  unlike 
June,  when  June  is  what  it  should  be,  with  its  in 
effable,  incomparable  Junefulness — the  blending 
of  the  rich  green  of  its  grass  and  foliage  with  its 
bloom  and  fragrance — a  fragrance  which  makes  a 
nose  a  good  thing  to  have  in  the  country  (as  Mr. 
Sparrowgrass  might  say),  however  undesirable  it  is 
in  the  city,  a  fragrance  which  almost  elevates  the 
nose  into  an  organ  for  the  beautiful. 

"  Noticeable,  by  the  way,"  continued  the  Doctor, 
going  off  at  a  tangent  on  a  new  line  of  thought — a 
thing  not  unusual  with  him,  and  one  you  may  al 
ways  expect  when  you  see  him  throw  back  his  head 
and  put  his  left  hand  to  the  back  of  his  neck,  and 
peer  through  his  glasses  at  nothing  in  particular — 
"noticeable,"  said  he,  "that  we  should  have  no 
right  to  speak  of  a  beautiful  fragrance,  any  more 
than  of  a  beautiful  flavor — a  soup  or  a  sauce  ;  that 
there  is  strictly  nothing  beautiful  in  the  world  of 

sense  but  what  is  so  for  the  eye  or  for  the  ear 

that  forms,  or  colors,  or  tones,  or  words,  are,  in  some 
combination  or  other,  the  elements  of  every  sensible 
object  that  we  rightly  term  beautiful,  the  only  ma- 


96  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

terials  the  creative  power  of  the  artist  can  employ 
to  embody  and  express  to  the  universal  mind  and 
heart  the  invisible  and  ineffable  ideal,  the  beaut iful 
in  spirit  and  in  truth. 

"  My  friend  Pelham  tells  me  of  an  acquaintance 
of  his,  an  eminent  musical  man,  who  denies  this, 
who  says  that  the  fragrance  of  the  heliotrope  ex 
presses  to  him  precisely  what  certain  musical  tones 
do.  He  is  the  only  man  I  ever  heard  of  holding 
any  such  notion  ;  and  his  experience,  taking  it  as 
he  states  it,  proves  nothing  to  any  purpose  against 
the  general  doctrine.  Yet  I  do  not  wonder  at  any 
one  feeling  reluctant  to  put  the  fragrance  of  flowers 
into  the  class  of  mere  sensual  delights.  We  do 
not  feel  so  in  regard  to  flavors.  The  delight  of  Al 
derman  G-ubbins  in  the  turtle  soup  he  gobbles 
down  and  in  the  champagne  he  follows  it  with,  we 
know  and  admit  is  but  a  swinish  delight — whether 
he  call  his  turtle  and  champagne  beautiful  or  de 
licious  ;  but  when  the  gentle  Amanda  puts  the 
sprig  of  heliotrope,  or  mignionette,  or  the  bunch  of 
carnations  to  her  nose  and  cries  c  Beautiful  !  '  dare 
you  call  it  a  swinish  delight  ?  do  you  even  like  to 
say,  it  is  a  mere  delight  of  the  senses,  highly  refined 
indeed  in  its  quality,  but  still  something  purely 
and  wholly  sensual  ? 


ATGREYSTONES.  97 

"  Yet,  granting  (as  we  must)  that  tlie  fragrance 
of  a-  flower  is  no  part  of  its  beauty,  one  thing  is 
certain,  that,  for  me  at  least,  no  flower  without  fra 
grance  is  satisfactory,  whatever  be  its  beauty  of 
form  and  color.  I  should  as  soon  think  of  being 
satisfied  with  the  lovely  Amanda — her  perfect 
form,  her  exquisite  beauty  of  features  and  com 
plexion — if  she  were  made  of  painted  wax  or  plaster. 
What  the  coursing  life,  what  the  soul  is  to  Amanda, 
that  the  sweet  fragrance  is  to  a  beautiful  flower. 
When  I  am  abroad  in  June,  the  thousand  b]ended 
perfumes  which  the  flowers  exhale,  seem  to  me  not 
only  the  breath,  but  the  soul  of  nature's  ]ife  ;  and 
I  almost  feel  as  if  I  belonged  to  the  world  of  beauty 
as  much  in  virtue  of  my  nose  as  of  my  eyes." 

"But  what  were  we  talking  about, "  said  the 
Doctor,  recollecting  himself  enough  to  be  conscious 
he  had  wandered,  but  not  enough  to  remember  from 
where. 

"  You  were  beginning  to  sing  the  praises  of 
October/'  replied  Mrs.  Oldham,  with  a  smile,  "  and 
were  contrasting  it  with  June." 

"  Oh  !  ah  !  yes  !  "  said  the  Doctor,  "  October 
is  not  like  June  ;  but  it  is  delightful  in  the  con 
trast  of  its  genial  temperature,  its  fresh,  dry,  in 
vigorating  air,  with  the  burning  sun  of  midsummer 


98  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

and  the  unelastic  enervating  atmosphere  of  dog- 
days.  You  can  walk  briskly  without  getting  un 
comfortably  heated,  or  you  can  saunter  about  at 
the  slowest  pace  without  any  sense  of  chill. 

"  But  the  great  glory  of  October  up  here  is  in 
the  face  that  nature  wears — its  day  skies  and  sun 
set  skies,  but  especially  its  forests  and  wooded 
hills. 

"Can  any  thing  be  more  exquisite  than  the 
scene  that  presents  itself  to  our  eyes  now — both  in 
near  and  in  the  distant  view,  in  their  union  and  in 
their  contrast.  This  little  valley  widening  out  to 
ward  the  river  and  forming  our  lawn,  which  we 
have  dotted  here  and  there  with  evergreens  and 
flowering  shrubs  \  and  that  brook,  winding  through 
the  close-shaven  and  still  green  grass,  gurgling  and 
sparkling  as  its  stream  breaks  over  the  stones,  and 
running  rapidly  away  to  the  place  where  it  leaps 
down  the  rocks  in  the  cascade  that  Phil  has  made 
the  most  of.  By  the  way,  Phil  has  shown  the  skill 
of  an  engineer,  as  well  as  the  good  taste  of  a  land 
scape  artist,  in  the  way  he  has  managed  to  enlarge 
that  brook,  by  liberating  the  spring  at  the  foot  of 
the  crag  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  and  to  conduct 
the  augmented  stream  through  the  garden  and  the 
lawn.  That  brook  is  a  charming  feature  in  the 


AT      GREYSTONES.  99 

foreground  of  the  picture  before  us.  Then  on  the 
sides  of  the  crags  that  flank  our  happy  valley,  see 
the  leaves  of  the  wild  vines  that  grow  out  of  the 
fissures  all  turned  orange  and  red  in  contrast  with 
the  green  of  the  tiny  cedars  they  run  among  and 
twine  around.  And  then,  farther  away  to  the 
south,  over  those  fields  and  woods  this  side  the 
reach  in  the  river,  and  across  the  river  to  the  west, 
see  the  myriad  hues  of  the  forest  trees.  Can  any 
thing  be  more  rich  and  gorgeously  beautiful !  To 
be  up  here,  on  such  a  day  as  this,  on  the  hills  and 
among  the  hills,  and  in  the  presence  of  higher  hills 
and  mountains,  like  those  across  the  river,  doubling 
and  trebling  their  outlines  as  they  recede  in  the 
distance  in  the  cloudless  sky,  with  the  great  sky 
lines  of  the  Shawangunk  and  Catskills  there  on 
the  farthest  range  of  the  horizon — it  is  positively 
glorious  !  See,  too,  what  a  soft  blue  haze  invests 
every  thing  in  the  distance — the  fields  and  wood 
lands  and  hills,  and  especially  in  the  horizon  where 
the  land  and  the  sky  meet.  It  makes  one  think 
that  nature  is  doing  as  a  beautiful  woman,  when, 
at  the  prompting  of  the  sweet  instincts  of  woman 
hood,  she  drops  her  veil  before  her  face  in  modest 
self-respect  and  rebuke  of  your  too  admiring  gaze  : 
or,  since  this  soft  haze  is  too  thin  a  veil  to  do  more 


100  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

than  heighten  the  charms  which  it  seems  to  con 
ceal,  it  may  be  that  nature  lets  fall  the  thin  blue 
veil  only  the  more  to  draw  and  fix  our  gaze." 

"  Ah,  husband/'  said  Mrs.  Oldham,  "  that's  a 
bad  fancy,  that  last  image  of  yours.  You  should 
think  of  nature  as  too  natural  to  practise  coquet 
tish  arts." 

"Well,  wife,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "she  is  at 
any  rate  full  of  graces  beyond  the  reach  of  art. 
Pencils  of  Claude  and  Euysdael !  How  much  of 
beauty  does  one  see  on  such  a  day  as  this  which 
no  painter  can  portray — the  fluctuations  of  light 
and  shade,  and  the  perpetual  stir  and  motion  of 
the  life  of  nature  ;  and  even  of  the  picturable 
things  which  the  artist  can  fix  and  reproduce,  what 
a  series  it  would  make — enough  to  fill  a  moderate 
cabinet — if  we  had  a  copy  of  all  the  different 
beautiful  scenes  our  eyes  can  take  in  from  this 
single  point." 

"  I  wish  we  had,"  said  Mrs.  Oldham,  "  I  should 
be  delighted  to  have  such  a  set  of  paintings  :  for 
although  the  pictures  nature  hangs  out  for  us  in 
this  grand  gallery  are  so  beautiful,  and  although 
so  much  of  this  beauty — changing  with  the  chang 
ing  seasons  of  the  year,  and  shifting  with  the  shift 
ing  lights  and  shades  of  every  day  is — unpicturable  ; 


AT     GREYSTONES.  101 

still,  does  not  the  true  artist,  even  in  copying, 
heighten  the  beauty  of  such  scenes  ?  " 

"  Is  it,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  any  heightening 
— any  thing  the  artist  adds  to  the  beauty  of  the 
scene  ?  Is  it  not  merely  the  peculiar  pleasure  you 
feel  in  seeing  what  nature  gives  you  out-doors  on 
such  a  large  scale,  copied  and  reduced  to  miniature 
by  the  artist  ?  The  original  is  beautiful,  and  so 
the  copy  must  be  too.  The  beauty  the  same  in 
both,  the  same  must  be  the  pleasure — so  far  as  due 
to  the  beauty.  Can  there  be  any  difference  except 
in  the  special  pleasure  of  tracing  the  likeness  of 
the  copy  to  the  original  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  not,"  said  Mrs.  Oldharn,  "  that  is, 
I  suppose  there  can  be  nothing  more  in  regard  to 
any  mere  copy.  But  you  do  not  mean  to  deny 
that  the  artist  may  not  only  heighten  the  beauty 
of  nature,  but  make  things  that  will  be  more  beau 
tiful  than  any  thing  that  can  be  actually  found  in 
nature  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  Doctor,  "  there  is  an  ideal 
in  the  mind  which  surpasses  any  thing  actual ;  and 
so  nature  and  art  both  suggest  more  than  they  dis 
play — reveal  to  the  mind's  eye  more  than  is  visible 
to  the  eye  of  sense — disclose  the  ideal  in  the  real, 
the  infinite  in  the  finite.  The  artist  is  a  maker. 


102  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

His  faculty  is  creative.  So  lie  can  and  often  does 
heighten  the  actual  beauty  of  nature.  It  is  too 
the  necessity  of  his  genius  that  he  should  strive  to 
make  things  more  beautiful  than  any  thing  that 
can  be  found  in  actual  nature.  But  I  would  not 
say  that  his  creations  must  needs  be  eo,  to  be  true 
works  of  art :  yet  certainly  his  function  is  to  make 
things  that  have  no  exact  counterpart  in  nature. 
Otherwise  his  faculty  is  not  creative  ;  he  is  not  a 
true  maker.  But  the  creative  imagination  can 
work  only  with  materials  furnished  by  nature,  with 
images  derived  from  sense  either  directly  or  through 
the  fancy.  The  maker,  the  finite  maker  at  least — 
whether  poet,  or  painter,  or  sculptor,  or  musician 
— cannot  create  out  of  nothing.  He  must  have 
sensible  means  —  words,  colors,  forms,  tones  —  to 
embody  and  express  his  thought.  By  the  way,  it 
is  curious  that  the  word  poet — which  means  only 
a  maker — should  have  come  to  be  exclusively  ap 
propriated  to  the  maker  of  word  creations.  All 
artists  are  makers  too,  and  eminently  such.  Yet 
there  was  a  time  in  which  the  word  maker  in  our 
Saxon  speech  was  used  instead  of  the  word  poet, 
and  was  applied  to  word  artists  in  the  same 
exclusive  or  eminent  way  as  the  term  poet  is  now. 
It  seems  to  indicate  a  general  feeling,  as  if  word 


AT     GREYSTONES.  103 

poetry  were    the    highest  order   of    artistic   crea 
tion/' 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Oldham,  "  unne 
cessary  and  something  invidious  thus  to  put  into 
comparison  things  that  are  different,  rather  than 
of  unequal  rank.  But  as  to  that  Beautiful  in 
itself,  which  is  embodied  in  the  finite  maker's 
forms — what  is  it  ?  " 

"  What  else  is  it " — said  the  Doctor  in  reply— 
"  what  else  can  it  he,  hut  the  reflection,  more  or 
less  faint  but  always  faint,  of  the  infinite  in  the 
finite  ?  What  is  all  Art  but  an  attempt  at  the 
impossible  ?  No  sum  of  finites  can  equal  the 
infinite.  The  Almighty  artist  himself  needs  eter 
nity  and  immensity  to  disclose  the  riches  of  His 
mind  and  thought.  When  will  the  disclosure  be 
complete  ?  When  will  the  Infinite  pass  fully  out 
into  the  finite  ?  Eternally  unfolding,  but  eternally 
undisclosed,  is  the  infinite  substance  and  source  of 
Truth,  Beauty  and  Goodness." 

"Husband,"  said  Mrs.  Oldham,  "when  did 
creation  begin,  and  what  was  God's  purpose  in 
it  ?  " 

"  We  will  ask  Professor  Clare  about  it  some 
time,"  replied  the  Doctor. 


104  DOCTOB     OLDHAM 


CHAPTER   XII. 

PROFESSOR  CLARE. THE  DOCTOR'S   TALK  ABOUT   THE  STARRY  HEAV 
ENS. ADDISON  AND  SIIAKSPEARE. WORD-PAINTING   AND   OTHER 

PAINTING. WHERE  THE  UNIVERSE  ENDS  AND  HOW  IT  IS  FILLED. 

— MRS.  OLDHAM'S  TWO  QUESTIONS  ARE  NOT  ANSWERED. 

PROFESSOR  CLARE  came  in  that  evening  to  tea. 
He  is  the  Doctor's  neighbor,  an  alert  little  man 
with  curly  black  hair  and  bright  eyes,  who,  besides 
knowing  Greek  (his  special  profession),  knows 
pretty  nearly  every  thing  else  that  is  going  on  in 
the  neighborhood,  and  in  the  world  at  large,  for 
that  matter,  so  far  as  a  daily  reading  of  the  New 
York  Daily  Times  can  keep  a  man  up  with  the 
times.  He  is  a  fluent  uttcrer  of  the  current 
common-places  of  opinion  and  sentiment  upon  all 
such  things  as  are  made  matters  of  opinion  and 
sentiment  in  his  world  and  among  those  he  has 
mostly  lived  with ;  and  also  thinks  he  has  a 
thought  or  two  upon  profounder  matters  of  the 
ology  and  philosophy  gained  many  years  ago — dur- 


AT     GREYSTONES.  105 

ing  his  last  year  at  college  in  fact,  where  he  went 
in  succession  through  Locke,  Edwards  and  Paley, 
Keid,  Stewart,  and  Butler,  making  daily  recita 
tions  out  of  them  to  the  President,  the  Keverend 
Doctor  Dort,  but  without  getting  much  clear  in 
sight  into  the  differences  that  divide  those  celebra 
ted  writers— owing,  perhaps,  to  the  fact  that  the 
venerable  President  appeared  to  hold  all  those 
authors  as  thinkers  of  equal  and  harmonious  au 
thority,  requiring  of  the  students  a  respectful  re 
collection  of  their  words,  rather  than  encouraging 
any  perplexing  inquiries  about  their  meaning  and 
agreement  with  each  other.  Venerable  Doctor 
Dort  !  He  slept  well  through  life  ;  and  has  slept 
peacefully  in  the  resting-place  where  his  reverend 
head  has  reposed  for  nearly  thirty  years,  in  the 

cemetery  of  W College — where    (not   in   the 

cemetery,  but  in  the  college)  Mr.  Clare  afterwards 
for  some  years  held  the  professorship  of  Greek — 
cherishing  a  filial  reverence  for  the  venerable  slum- 
berer  as  the  "guide,  philosopher,  and  friend," 
through  whose  guidance,  philosophy,  and  friend 
ship,  he  explored  the  deepest  regions  of  the  world 
of  thought,  and  brought  back  specimens  and  me 
mentoes  which  he  sometimes  takes  pleasure  (like 
most  travellers)  in  showing  to  his  friends. 
5* 


106  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

But  Greek  was  liis  profession  ;  and  Greek  is  his 
great  love — a  love  that  betrays  itself  at  times  in 
mixed  society,  at  dinner  and  tea  parties,  where  he 
is  a  little  given  to  favoring  the  company  with  illus 
trations  of  whatever  may  be  the  topic  of  conver 
sation  drawn  from  those  old  sources,  the  sayings  of 
famous  Greek  writers  or  the  doings  of  famous  Greek 
great  men.  But  then  he  is  such  a  thoroughly 
amiable  good-natured  man,  and  so  full  of  pleasant 
chat  that  everybody  likes  him,  and  his  absence 
from  the  tea-parties  would  be  felt  as  a  great  loss. 

"Friendly  persons,"  the  Doctor  says,  speaking 
of  him,  "  always  make  friends,  certainly  among  all 
right-hearted  people  ;  and  as  to  the  rest,  we  all 
have  our  little  foibles,  as  the  Frenchman  said  when 
ETC.  ;  and  for  my  part,  I  think  I  like  a  friendly- 
hearted  man  the  better  for  having  a  foible  or  two 
— provided,  of  course,  that  they  imply  no  meanness, 
nothing  dishonorable,  but  rather  spring  from  warmth 
of  heart,  simplicity,  confiding  frankness,  and  an 
unaffected  love  for  some  respectable  or  harmless 
hobby." 

The  ETCETERA  above  refers  (I  may  observe  by 
the  way)  to  the  Frenchman's  particular  foible — a 
remarkable  taste  in  the  matter  of  bouilli — which 
cannot  be  considered  either  as  respectable  or  harm- 


AT     GBEYSTONES.  107 

less,  and  which  I  abstain  from  mentioning  in  full 
because  I  do  not  like  to  present  an  image  to  the 
fancy  that  might  possibly  be  unpleasing  to  some 
of  my  gentle  readers.  Some  things  may  as  well  be 
left  unsaid,  even  when  it  is  not  possible  to  avoid 
suggesting  them.  But  in  this  case  I  have  sug 
gested  nothing  to  those  who  have  not  heard  of  the 
Frenchman's  little  foible.  Those  that  have,  must 
not  blame  me  (if  the  image  be  in  any  degree 
unpleasing  to  their  taste),  but  the  Doctor,  and 
scarcely  even  him,  but  only  the  ill-luck  that  first 
brought  the  image  before  their  fancy.  The  Doctor, 
however,  is  not  squeamish  about  such  matters.  He 
likes  to  refer  to  this  saying  of  the  Frenchman,  and 
often  does  so,  always  giving  the  etcetera  in  full — 
beause  it  gives  piquancy  to  the  common-place  and 
so  justifies  its  utterance. 

But  Professor  Clare  and  the  Frenchman's  foible 
have  led  me  away  from  the  purpose  of  the  chapter 
— which  was  to  record  the  talk  that  fell  out  this 
evening — and  to  this  I  must  return. 

Tea  was  served  (as  it  always  is)  in  the  library, 
at  a  little  table1*  near  the  bay-window.  We  sat 
looking  out  upon  the  golden  sunset,  and  the  gor 
geous  hues  of  the  horizon  on  the  tops  of  the  hills 


108  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

across  the  Hudson,  until  the  last  gleam  of  daylight 
and  twilight  faded  away.  But  it  would  not  be 
true  to  say,  as  in  Coleridge's  lackadaisical  (wilfully 
lackadaisical)  sonnet,  that  "  Eve  saddened  into 
Night/'  For  the  night  was  any  thing  but  sad. 
The  sky  was  cloudless,  and  the  air  was  just  in  the 
right  state  to  give  the  stars  the  brightest  possible 
twinkle,  as  they  came  out  one  after  another.  We 
stepped  out  upon  the  lawn  to  get  a  larger  view  of 
the  brilliant  sight.  The  whole  concave,  from  hori 
zon  to  welkin,  was  studded  with  glittering  lights. 

"  What  a  sight/'  said  the  Doctor — "  so  glorious, 
yet  so  still !  How  silently  they  shine." 

"Not  without  voice,  though,"  replied  the  Pro 
fessor. 


What  though  in  solemn  silence  all 
Move  round  this  dark  terrestrial  ball, 
What  though  no  real  voice  nor  sound, 
Amid  those  radiant  orbs  be  found, 
In  reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice — 
Forever  singing  as  they  shine  : 
The  Hand  that  made  us  is  Divine." 


"  That's  grand,  isn't  it  ?  That's  the  old  Greek 
idea  of  the  music  of  the  spheres — the  divine  har 
mony  of  Pythagoras." 


AT     GREYSTONES.  109 

"  Hardly  that/'  said  the  Doctor,  "  since  it  is 
far  from  clear  that  the  Pythagorean  music  of  the 
spheres — which  was  a  mathematical  harmony  of 
numbers — had  any  thing  but  an  impersonal  prin 
ciple  for  the  ultimate  law  of  the  universe,  or  rather 
for  the  ground  out  of  which  it  was  evolved  in  a 
purely  necessary  way  :  which  would  not  be  a  very 
orthodox  idea  of  God  according  to  Addison's  view 
of  the  matter.  Still  there  is  no  doubt  but  this  idea 
of  the  music  of  the  spheres,  which  comes  from  the 
harmony  of  the  heavenly  motions,  is  very  old  ;  and 
it  is  as  poetic  and  beautiful  as  it  is  old. 

"  But  who  has  expressed  it  like  Shakspeare  in 
that  moonlight  scene  in  the  Merchant  of  Venice  : 


"  Look  how  the  floor  of  heaven 

Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold ; 

There's  not  the  smallest  star  which  thou  behold'st, 

But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings, 

Still  quiring  to  the  young  ey'd  cherubins : 

Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls ; 

But,  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 

Doth  grossly  close  it  in,  we  cannot  hear  it." 


"  That's  finer  than  your  verses,  grand  as  they 
are." 

"  Why,  I  recollect  now/'  said  the  Professor, 
"that  Doctor  Vox,  in  his  celebrated  lecture  on  the 


110  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

Cavalier,  introduced  both  those  passages,  and 
praised  the  latter  as  the  finest." 

"  Yes/'  replied  the  Doctor,  "  I  recited  them  to 
him  one  day  as  we  were  speaking  of  something  that 
led  me  to  think  of  them  and  put  them  in  con 
trast.  '  Grand  ! '  said  Doctor  Vox.  '  111  bring  them 
into  my  lecture  on  the  Cavalier.'  I  heard  him  re 
peat  his  lecture  afterwards,  and  found  he  had 
brought  them  in.  Their  logical  connection  with 
his  subject  was  not  remarkably  strict,  but  they 
were  delivered  with  an  air,  and  made  a  good 
rhetorical  point  that  told  well. 

"  But  what  exquisite  grace,  what  simple  idio 
matic  perfection  of  language,  in  that  passage  of 
Shakspare's  !  What  a  picture  it  presents  to  the 
mind's  eye  ;  and  what  a  proof  of  the  superiority  of 
word  pictures  over  form  and  color  pictures,  or 
rather,  I  ought  to  say,  of  the  wider  reach  and 
greater  variety  of  the  power  of  words  for  the  ex 
pression  of  the  conceptions  which  the  poetic  imag 
ination  gives  form  to :  yet  the  secret  of  their 
power  in  the  use  of  them  is  ever  in  using  them  as 
Shakspeare  does — not  as  something  fine  in  them 
selves,  but  merely  as  instruments  of  expression,  and 
the  simpler  the  better,  so  they  be  fitly  chosen, — 
and  who  chooses  them  like  Shakspeare  ?  Words  ! 


AT     G  K  E  Y  S  T  O  N  E  S.  Ill 

Wonderful  things  are  words — half  spirit,  half  sense, 
so  flexible,  so  various  in  their  power  !  The  poet 
can  body  forth  to  the  fancy  or  to  the  imaginative 
faculty  in  words  almost  every  thing  the  sculptor  or 
the  painter  can  in  form  and  color,  and  a  great  deal 
that  form  and  color  cannot  embody.  What  painter 
could  give  adequate  form  to  the  picture  that 
Shakspeare  in  these  words  puts  before  the  mind's 
eye." 

"  But  sculpture  and  painting  can  sometimes  do 
more  than  poetry  can  do,"  said  the  Professor ; 
"  they  can  give  us  at  a  glance,  vividly  and  per 
fectly,  many  things  which  words  can  only  imper 
fectly  express,  and  that  not  merely  delicate  va 
rieties  of  outline  and  light  and  shade,  but  also 
thereby  of  moral  expression,  for  instance,  of  a  coun 
tenance." 

"  True/'  replied  the  Doctor,  "  and  it  is  another 
advantage  of  sculpture  and  painting  (as  also  of 
music)  that  they  are,  as  my  friend  Weir  says,  more 
catholic  arts,  in  one  point  of  view— their  language 
is  universal  ;  they  not  only  speak  to  the  mind  and 
heart  of  humanity  everywhere  in  the  matter  of 
what  they  speak  (which  all  art  does),  but  their 
language  is  one  that  is  read  and  understood  alike 
by  the  people  of  all  different  nations  and  tongues. 


112  DOCTOR    OLD HAM 

"  Still  the  proper  effect  of  true  art  is  rather  to 
suggest  the  ideal  to  the  mind's  eye,  than  to  repro 
duce  the  actual  to  the  eye  of  sense  ;  and  besides, 
the  poet,  in  embodying  his  conceptions  of  action  or 
passion,  thought  or  sentiment,  is  not  limited  like 
the  painter  and  sculptor,  to  some  fixed  point  in 
space  and  to  some  indivisible  moment  of  time  :  and 
so  I  speak  of  poetry  as  having  a  wider  reach  and 
greater  variety  of  power  than  the  other  arts.  But 
I  intend  nothing  invidious.  All  the  arts  are  alike 
in  their  object,  the  expression  of  the  beautiful ;  they 
are  heterogeneous  in  their  means  of  expression,  and 
so  in  some  respects  cannot  be  justly  put  into  com 
parison  :  hetcrogenea  non  sunt  comparanda  ;  a  lily 
cannot  be  said  to  be  whiter  than  a  rose  is  sweet. 
I  am  sure,  however,  you  will  agree  with  me  in  say 
ing  that  no  painter  can  paint  the  picture  which 
those  words  of  Shakspeare  paint  for  the  mind's 
eye.  The  listening  cherubs — form  and  color  might 
picture  them  ;  but  that  would  be  far  from  telling 
the  whole  story." 

"  I  think  you  are  right,"  said  the  Professor. 

Mrs.  Oldham  had  remained  behind  a  moment 
or  two  when  we  came  out.  She  is  liable  to  neu 
ralgia,  and  was  afraid  to  be  out,  even  on  such  a  dry 
warm  evening  as  this,  without  her  hood  and  shawl : 


AT     GKEYSTONES.  113 

so  she  had  stopped  to  get  them  ;  and  in  her  wo 
manly  carefulness  had  brought  along  also  the  gen 
tlemen's  hats.  She  now  interposed  : 

"0  you  men/'  said  she,  "  talking  abstract  talk 
about  pictures  with  such  pictures  before  you  as  the 
sky  presents  !  If  you  must  speculate,  let  it  be 
about  the  stars.  Think  of  them — such  a  multitude 
of  worlds/' 

"  There  are  as  many  on  the  other  side  of  the 
equator/'  said  the  Doctor,  "  which  we  never  see  ; 
and  the  dwellers  on  that  side  never  see  ours  ;  and 
from  both  us  and  them  the  sun  hides  more  by  day 
than  the  night  reveals."  • 

"  Then  to  think  of  them/'  said  Mrs.  Oldham, 
"  as  such  great  worlds  hanging  on  nothing,  and 
moving  about  in  such  vast  circles — so  far  from  us 
that  the  light  (though  moving  at  the  rate  of  nearly 
two  hundred  thousand  miles  a  second)  takes  nearly 
three  years  to  get  to  us  from  the  nearest  fixed  star  ! 
I  was  reading  about  it  to-day/' 

"  Where  is  that  star  ?  "  asked  the  Professor. 

"  There  it  is/'  said  the  Doctor,  pointing  to  it. 
"It  is  the  brightest  of  those  stars  in  the  constella 
tion  called  Centaur.  And  look,  there  is  another 
star  of  the  first  magnitude — in  the  constellation 
Lyra — that  very  bright  star  ;  it  is  called  Vega,  and 


DOCTOR     OL  DHAM 

is  so  far  off  that  it  takes  twelve  years  for  a  ray  of 
light  from  it  to  reach  our  eyes." 

"  And  how  far  would  that  make  it  from  us  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Oldham. 

"  More  than  seventy  billions  of  miles/'  replied 
the  Doctor.  "  But  the  light  from  a  star  of  the  sixth 
magnitude  is  ninety-six  years  in  coming  to  us,  and 
is  nearly  six  hundred  billions  of  miles  distant  ;  and 
from  a  star  of  the  twelfth  magnitude  (seen  only  by 
a  telescope),  the  light  is  four  thousand  years  on  its 
way  to  us.  and  has  to  travel  twenty-four  thousand 
billion  miles." 

"And  beyond  that  you  suppose  still  other 
worlds  which  no  telescope  can  reach— don't  you  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Oldham. 

"  Yes,  a  billion  billion  miles  beyond  the  farthest 
star  which  we  behold,  there  are  doubtless  other 
worlds  and  systems— and  so  outward  and  outward 
— worlds  upon  worlds,  systems  upon  systems/' 

''  Husband,  where  does  the  universe  end  ?  " 

"  Nowhere,  my  dear." 

"  Is  infinitude  filled  ?  " 

"  Yes  and  no." 

"Why  yes?" 

"We  cannot  but  think  of  that  which  we  be- 


AT      GREY&TONES.  115 

hold  as  a  part  and  a  type  of  that  which  exists  in 
the  infinite  abyss  beyond  our  view." 

"  Why  no?" 

"  Because  the  infinite  is  infinite,  and  no  sum  of 
finites  can  equal  it." 

"  Are  those  worlds  inhabited,  do  you  think  ?  " 
asked  the  Professor. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  replied  the  Doctor. 

"  I  read  a  very  profound  and  learned  book," 
said  the  Professor,  "  that  came  out  three  or  four 
years  ago,  going  to  prove  the  contrary,  or,  at 
least,  that  there  is  no  good  reason  for  the  com 
mon  faith." 

"  And  it  proved  neither  the  one  nor  the  other," 
said  the  Doctor  ;  "  all  it  proved  was — what  every 
body  knew  before— that  the  dwellers  in  those  heav 
enly  bodies  must  be  differently  constituted  from 
those  that  live  on  our  earth  in  order  to  exist  there  : 
and  so,  because  there  can  be  no  human  dwellers 
there,  the  author  inferred  that  there  are  none  at  all 
— an  irresistible  inference,  indeed,  provided  it  be 
taken  for  granted  that  God  could  not  make  living 
and  rational  creatures  adapted  to  those  worlds  as 
easily  as  he  has  done  so  here  ;  which  is  a  principle 
the  writer  does  not  prove  and  which  I  do  not  grant, 
so  his  argument  goes  for  nothing  with  me  :  and  on 


DOCTOR     OLD  HAM 

the  other  hand,  the  fact  that  God  has  filled  our 
earth  so  full  of  various  forms  of  life  adapted  to  such 
opposite  conditions,  is  a  presumption  he  has  done 
the  like  in  the  other  worlds.  It  is  repugnant  to 
my  mind  to  suppose  that  our  little  globe  is  the 
only  abode  of  reasonable  beings  ;  I  the  rather  be- 
live  that  the  countless  myriads  of  orbs  that  roll  in 
the  boundless  depths  of  space,  are  full  of  dwellers 
of  like  order  and  many  probably  of  higher  degree 
than  those  that  inhabit  our  earth." 

"  And  to  think,  husband,  that  He  who  made  all 
those  worlds  and  filled  them  with  dwellers,  should 
watch  over  and  care  for  each  individual  of  us  all, 
with  that  constant  special  care  He  bids  us  believe 
He  does." 

"  Costs  Him  nothing,  my  dear  ;  it  is  as  easy  as 
if  the  universe  were  a  twenty  acre  lot,  and  you  and 
I  the  only  children  of  His  care." 

"  But  why  suppose  such  minute  individual 
care  ?  "  said  Professor  Clare. 

"  Because/'  replied  the  Doctor,  "  it  is  best  to 
consider  God  as  at  least  equally  as  good  as  a  good 
earthly  father." 

"  Let  us  go  in,"  said  Mrs.  Oldham. 


AT     GRETSTONES.  117 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MORE  ABOUT    THE  STARS  AND  THE  EARTH PANTHEISM WHETHER  ANY 

THING  CAN  BECOME  SO  SMALL  AS  TO  BECOME   NOTHING  AND  YET   RE 
MAIN    SOMETHING TIME   AND    SPACE MRS.    OLDHAM'S   TWO    GREAT 

QUESTIONS   AGAIN,    AND    THE  WAY  THEY  WERE  ANSWERED. 

u  HERE  is  that  little  book  about  <  the  Stars  and  the 
.Earth/  which  I  was  reading  to-day/'  said  Mrs.  Old- 
ham,  as  we  drew  around  the  library- table  ;  "  there 
are  a  great  many  beautiful  and  wonderful  things  in 
it  about  the  distance  of  the  stars,  and  the  time  the 
light  takes  to  come  from  them  to  our  eyes  :  but 
there  are  some  speculations  about  time  and  space 
that  seemed  to  me  very  strange,  and  far  from  true. 
But  I  don't  think  I  understood  the  reasoning  at  all." 
"  No  matter,  my  dear,  about  what  you  did  not 
understand,"  replied  the  Doctor  ;  "  you  understood 
all  that  was  much  worth  your  understanding — 
those  facts  about  the  stars  and  light  ;  and  as  to 
the  speculations,  your  impressions  were  quite  cor 
rect.  Have  you  read  it,  Professor  ?  " 


118  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

The  Professor  had  never  seen  it. 

"  It  contains  some  novel  and  striking,  some  in 
genious  and  beautiful  things/'  continued  tho  Doc 
tor,  "  but  it  is  full  of  absurd  confusions  of  thought, 
and  of  false  assumptions  grounded  on  them — lead 
ing  to  the  strangest  contradictions.  The  writer  re 
gards  the  universe  as  God's  thought — a  beautiful 
idea,  and  rightly  taken,  true  enough/' 

"  But  it  is  Pantheism,  is  it  not  ?"  said  Pro 
fessor  Clare. 

"  What  is  Pantheism  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 

"Well,  it  is  every  thing  God  and  God  every 
thing,"  was  the  Professor's  reply. 

"  Both  at  once,  do  you  mean,  Professor  ?  " 

The  Professor  confessed  he  did  not  see  any 
difference. 

"  Well,  you  are  not  the  only  one  that  does  not : 
but  we  will  not  go  into  that  now,"  said  the  Doctor  ; 
"  I  had  rather  ask  you  in  what  way  that  expression 
about  the  universe  being  God's  thought  strikes  you 
as  Pantheistic  ?  " 

"Why,  it  makes  the  universe  exist  in  God," 
answered  the  Professor. 

"In  Him  we  live  and  move  and  have  our  being 
— saith  St.  Paul,"  rejoined  the  Doctor. 

The  Professor  looked  puzzled. 


AT    GREYSTONES.  119 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  he. 

"Nothing,"  returned  the  Doctor,  "except 
that  you  should  not  press  upon  figurative  or  am 
biguous  expressions  a  bad  construction,  simply  be 
cause  it  is  possible.  St.  Paul  was  no  Pantheist, 
yet  you  might  in  that  way  easily  make  him  out 
one." 

By  the  way,  this  remark  of  the  Doctor's  strikes 
upon  a  vice,  which  I,  the  Doctor's  editor,  cannot 
help  here  remarking  upon.  It  is  the  vice  of  a  great 
many  persons,  especially  of  bigoted  religious  people 
with  only  a  certain  degree  of  education — half  in 
structed  preachers — who  hold  a  certain  number  of 
accredited  formulas  without  any  insight — who  do 
not  think,  but  only  think  they  think,  and  are  par 
ticularly  mistaken  in  thinking  they  are  philosophi 
cal  thinkers.  Such  persons  are  very  prone  to  raise 
an  outcry  against  any  thing  that  jars  with  their 
habitual  notions,  and  to  put  the  worst  construction 
upon  every  thing  that  is  not  expressed  after  the 
fashion  of  their  formulas. 

There  is  almost  no  amount  of  absurd  mistake, 
or  moral  -enormity  of  unjust  censure  which  bigotry 
and  prejudice,  combined  with  ignorance  or  insuffi 
cient  instruction,  may  not  commit.  It  is  wonder 
ful  and  pitiful  there  should  be,  in  the  highest  eccle- 


120  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

siastical  quarters,  such  a  degree  not  only  of  the 
bigotry  you  might  expect,  but  of  the  ignorance  you 
would  not  expect.  I  recollect  the  case  of  a  passage 
out  of  John  Calvin's  Institutes  being  denounced 
as  rank  popery,  by  one  of  the  chief  doctors  at  the 
oldest  fountain  head  of  the  theological  instruction 
of  one  of  the  great  religious  communions  that  claims 
John  Calvin  as  its  founder  and  guide;  and  the  per 
sons  who  had  reprinted  an  old  tractate  in  which 
that  passage  occurred  (but  without  reference,  and 
so  the  source  of  it  was  not  indicated),  were  held  up 
to  the  odium  of  all  the  old  women  in  the  land  !  If 
the  chief  shepherds  of  the  people — the  teachers  of 
the  teachers — can  do  this,  how  will  it  be  with  the 
under  teachers  and  the  people  they  teach  ! 

But  Professor  Clare  was  not  a  bigot,  and  the 
Doctor  had  no  thought  of  intimating  he  was.  But 
to  go  on  with  the  talk. 

"  You  are  right,  as  well  as  not  right,  in  what 
you  observed/'  continued  the  Doctor.  "  It  is  pos 
sible  to  construe  the  expression  about  the  universe 
being  God's  thought,  so  as  to  imply  the  immanence 
of  all  things  in  God, — either  as  a  mode  of  God's 
being — taking  God  as  an  infinite,  impersonal  sub 
stance,  or  as  a  mode  of  His  activity — making  Him 
the  only  personal  being  ;  the  former  destroying 


AT     GREYSTONES.  121 

God's  personality,  the  latter  ours,  and  both  of  them 
incompatible  with  the  idea  of  any  proper  moral 
government.  But  it  is  not  necessary  to  construe 
the  expression  in  that  way ;  it  may  regard  the 
universe  as  God's  productive  thought,  the  projec 
tion  of  His  activity,  distinct  and  separate  from 
Himself,  just  as  the  artist's  picture  is  ;  which  I 
take  to  be  this  writer's  idea,  and  so  not  implying 
any  thing  wrong  in  his  way  of  thinking  about  God. 
And  as  to  the  rest,  the  spirit  of  his  little  book  is 
thoroughly  religious — its  whole  purpose  being  (as 
he  says)  to  help  us  '  imagine  and  completely  un 
derstand  the  universe  to  be  the  work  of  a  single 
Creator.' 

"  But  the  oddity  of  the  thing  is,  that  the  author 
thinks  the  only  possible  way  to  do  this  is  to  show 
that  '  a  point  of  view  is  conceivable,  from  which  the 
universe  no  longer  requires  the  expansion  of  time 
and  space  in  order  to  exist  and  to  be  intelligible  to 
us' !  And  so  he  undertakes  to  establish  this  point 
of  view,  by  denying  the  reality  of  time  and  space, 
or  by  proving  that  successions  of  events  can  take 
place  in  no  time,  and  bodies  can  co-exist  in  no 
space !  And  his  reasoning  is  equally  odd.  He 
takes  an  indefinitely  small  time  or  space  to  be  the 
6 


122  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

same  as  infinitely  small,  and  both  alike  as  equiva 
lent  to  nothing." 

"  It  seems  to  me  he  is  right  in  that,"  said  the 
Professor. 

"  The  infinitely  small  is,  no  doubt,  equivalent 
to  nothing  ;  but  it  is  so  only  because  there  can  be 
no  such  thing  as  an  infinitely  small  thing — the  idea 
is  a  contradiction  :  and  as  to  the  indefinitely  small, 
though  it  may  be  regarded  as  nothing,  it  is  not 
really  so.  If  you  set  out  with  a  given  duration  or 
a  given  space,  you  cart  conceive  them  indefinitely 
contracted — and  so  far  as  any  practical  or  scientific 
operations  are  concerned,  you  may  regard  them  as 
reduced  to  nothing  ;  but  you  cannot  conceive  them 
as  absolutely  so  reduced  :  it  is  a  contradiction. — Is 
not  this  clear  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  it  is,"  replied  the  Professor. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  can  you  con 
ceive  a  wheel  to  be  so  reduced  in  size  as  to  become 
no  wheel,  and  yet  continue  a  wheel,  and  to  increase 
the  rapidity  of  its  revolutions  to  such  a  degree  as 
not  to  revolve  at  all,  and  yet  keep  going  round  ?  " 

'Yes,  that  is  supposable,  so  far  as  our  eyes 
are  concerned,"  replied  the  Professor ;  "  photo 
graphy  and  the  microscope  illustrate  it." 

"  Completely,  however,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  only 


AT     GREYSTONES.  123 

on  the  supposition  that  an  exceedingly  small  thing 
is  nothing.  But  things  may  become  so  small  as  to 
be  nothing  to  our  eyes,  and  yet  be  very  far  from  be 
ing  absolutely  nothing.  So  you  are  partly  right, 
partly  not  right,  again.  Photography  contracts  that 
pleasing  picture  of  Queen  Victoria's  little  girls  into 
a  space  so  small  that  our  eyes  can  distinguish  noth 
ing,  and  our  friend  Doctor  Pelham's  microscope 
brings  it  back  again  distinct  and  clear.  But  that 
small  point  of  space  is  still  an  expanse.  Can 
photography  make  an  image  that  would  occupy  no 
space  ?  Can  the  microscope  reveal  such  an  image  ? 
In  short,  Professor,  do  you  think  it  supposable  that 
something  can  become  nothing,  and  yet  remain 
something  ?  " 

"  Absolutely  nothing  and  yet  something  ? — no, 
I  do  not  so  opine/'  replied  the  Professor. 

"  You  would  not  think,  then,  that  because  the 
actions  of  an  hour  can  be  hurried  through  in  half 
an  hour,  therefore  they  can  conceivably  be  hurried 
through  in  strictly  no  time  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  so  think." 

"  And  you  do  not  think  that  because  my  wife's 
fleecy  shawl  there  can  be  compressed  into  a  quarter 
of  the  space  it  now  fills,  it  can  conceivably  be  com 
pressed  into  no  space  ?  " 


124  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

"No." 

"  You  do  not,  then.,  find  yourself  able  to  con 
ceive  that,  because  every  finite  duration  and  every 
finite  space,  when  compared  with  infinite  duration 
and  infinite  space,  c  appears  like  nothing/  therefore 
they  are  strictly  nothing  ?  " 

"  I  confess  not." 

"  Would  you  say,  then,  that  { the  proposition 
that  for  the  occurrence  of  every  given  event,  a  cer 
tain  lapse  of  time  is  requisite,  may  be  altogether 
rejected '  ?  " 

"  I  would  not." 

"  Then  you  would  not,  in  like  manner,  reject 
the  idea  that  some  expansion  of  space  is  necessary 
for  the  existence  and  co-existence  of  bodies  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  You  would  not,  then,  hold  that  the  myriads 
of  worlds  we  have  seen  to-night  can  be  conceived 
as  occupying  in  absolute  reality  no  space  at  all,  and 
the  events  of  their  history  as  transpiring  in  really 
no  time  at  all  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  cannot  hold  such  a  thing  con 
ceivable." 

"  And  you  would  not  consider  such  a  concep 
tion  as  a  wonderfully  fine  and  wonderfully  impor 
tant  one — as  being  { the  only  one  with  which  and 


AT     GREYSTONES.  125 

by  which  we  can  imagine  and  completely  under 
stand  the  universe  to  be  the  work  of  a  single  Crea 
tor  ? ' " 

"  By  no  means  can  I  so  consider  it,"  replied  the 
Professor. 

"It  is  clear  then/'  said  the  Doctor,  " that  you 
do  not  agree  with  the  remarkable  thinker  who  wrote 
this  remarkable  little  book,  for  he  holds  all  these 
droll  notions." 

"  But  how  came  he  to  fall  into  such  notions  ? 
Does  he  go  upon  nothing  that  is  true  ?  "  asked  the 
Professor. 

"  Oh  no,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  that  is  never 
perhaps  the  case  with  any  thinker.  He  only  takes 
what  is  or  may  be  true  as  to  God,  as  true  as  to 
us." 

66  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"God's  knowledge  may  embrace  all  things  in 
the  universe — all  things  and  events — at  once  with 
out  relation  to  Time  and  Space  ;  and  this  writer 
tries  to  make  it  out  that  the  same  thing  may  be 
conceivably  true  of  us — which  could  only  be  by  our 
becoming  infinite  like  God." 

"  What  are  Time  and  Space  then  ?  "  inquired 
the  Professor. 

"  The  where  of  bodies  and  the  when  of  events 


126  DOCTOR      OLD  HAM 

to  creatures  like  us,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "neces 
sary  conditions  of  knowledge  for  finite  minds — 
conceptions  without  which  we  cannot  conceive  of 
things  and  events." 

"But,  husband/'  interposed  Mrs.  Oldham, 
"there  are  my  two  questions  that  I  put  to  you 
yesterday  :  you  said  you  would  ask  Professor  Clare 
about  them  :  When  did  creation  begin  ?  and  what 
was  God's  purpose  in  it  ?  I  want  to  hear  about 
them." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  they  are  rather  deep  questions 
both  of  them.  What  say  you,  Professor  ?  The 
first  one  is  rather  the  most  puzzling,  I  imagine  : 
When  did  creation  begin  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  ask  when  our  earth  was 
created  ?  "  said  the  Professor. 

"No,  I  rather  think  my  wife  has  not  troubled 
herself  with  the  questions  raised  by  the  geologists 
as  to  the  duration  of  our  earth  :  at  any  rate  her 
question,  I  presume,  has  a  wider  range." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Oldham,  "  I  was  thinking 
last  night,  as  I  was  looking  at  the  innumerable 
stars,  how  far  back  the  first  act  of  creation  took 
place,  and  when  the  first  created  thing  came  into 
existence." 


AT     GREYS  TONES.  127 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  there  is  a 
previous  question ':  Did  creation  ever  begin  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  answered  the  Professor,  "  we  are 
sure  it  must  have  had  a  beginning,  though  we  may 
be  unable  to  say  when — or  how  many  ages  back — 
that  beginning  was  ;  for  that  is  a  matter  of  fact, 
to  be  learned  only  from  competent  instruction, 
and  not  of  reasoning  to  be  reached  by  our  own 
thoughts." 

"  You  mean,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  that  as  every 
thing  that  had  a  beginning  must  have  had  a  cause, 
so  every  thing  that  had  a  cause  must  have  had  a 
beginning  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Professor. 

"  But  you  would  hold  it  conceivable  that  the 
universe  did  not  come  into  existence  all  at  once,  but 
may  have  been  the  product  of  successive  acts  of  the 
Creative  Will  ?  " 

"  I  conceive  it  may  so  have  been." 

"  And  you  would  say,  in  regard  to  any  particu 
lar  determinate  product  of  creative  activity,  that  it 
must  have  come  into  existence  at  some  particular 
determinate  point  or  period  in  the  eternity  of  dura 
tion?" 

"  I  should  say  so." 

"  And  you  would  consider  that  the  very  first  act 


128  DOCTOR     OLD  HAM 

of  creative  energy  was  prior,  not  only  in  the  order 
of  thought  but  in  the  order  of  time,  to  the  exist 
ence  of  the  first  created  thing  ?  " 

"  I  should  so  consider." 

"  And  you  would  say  there  was  a  determinate 
time  in  the  past  when  that  very  first  act  took  place, 
and  that  first  created  thing  began  to  exist  ?  " 

"  I  should  so  say." 

"  And  how  long  had  God  then  existed  ?  "  asked 
the  Doctor  again. 

"  From  eternity,  of  course,"  replied  the  Pro 
fessor. 

"  And  from  eternity,  then,  to  that  time,  you 
conceive  of  God  as  doing  nothing  in  the  way  of 
creation  ?  "  said  the  Doctor,  continuing  his  ques 
tions. 

"  It  seems  necessary  so  to  think,"  answered  the 
Professor. 

"  From  eternity  to  that  time,  you  conceive  of 
infinitude,  then,  as  void,  or  filled  by  God  alone  ?  " 
said  the  Doctor. 

"  I  must  so  conceive,"  said  the  Professor. 

"  From  eternity,  then,  a  solitary  inactive  God  ?  " 
inquired  the  Doctor  once  more. 

"  Not  necessarily  solitary  or  inactive,"  replied 
the  Professor  ;  "  there  was  the  society  and  converse 


AT     GREYSTONES.  129 

among  themselves  of  the  Persons  of  the  Blessed 
Trinity." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  the  Doctor,  "  if  a  God  with 
out  a  universe  from  eternity  be  a  satisfactory  con 
ception,  why  not  to  eternity  ?  " 

"  But,  husband,  when  do  you  say  creation  be 
gan  ?  "  interposed  Mrs.  Oldham. 

"  When  God  began,"  replied  the  Doctor  ;  "  at 
least  I  should  say  so,  if  I  had  any  doctrine  to  lay 
down  on  the  matter,  which  I  have  not." 

"  But  that  would  make  creation  eternal,"  said 
she. 

"  And  that  would  be  a  contradiction,"  said  the 
Professor. 

"  To  the  understanding,  I  know  it  is,"  returned 
the  Doctor,  "  but  it  is  more  satisfactory  to  the  rea 
son  than  the  idea  of  a  God  from  eternity  without  a 
universe,  and  no  more  a  contradiction  to  the  under 
standing  than  the  received  doctrine  about  the  eter 
nal  WORD  by  Whom  all  things  were  made.  To  be 
God,  and  to  be  ever  creative,  seem  to  me  ideas  that 
go  inseparably  together,  though  the  former  is  first 
in  the  order  of  thought." 

"  But  that  would  make  creation  necessary," 
suggested  the  Professor. 

"  Not  in  your  sense  of  the  word,"  returned  the 
6* 


130  DOCTOR     OLD HAM 

Doctor  ;  "  no  more  so  than  God's  own  existence, 
and  nature,  and  attributes  as  the  Living  God  ;  no 
more  so  than  the  finite  creations  of  the  human  ar 
tist,  which  are  the  product  of  his  artist  nature  and 
faculties — in  one  view  necessary,  in  another  free. 
It  is  indeed  necessary  that  God  should  be  what  He 
is.  God  is  Love  :  the  necessities  of  Love  are  the 
freest  activities  in  the  universe." 

"  But  there's  my  other  question/'  said  Mrs.  Old- 
ham.  "  I  want  to  hear  Professor  Clare's  opinion 
about  it  :  Why  did  God  create  the  universe  ?  " 

"  For  His  own  glory,"  replied  the  Professor. 

"  Do  you  regard  that  as  His  final  end  ?  "  in 
quired  the  Doctor. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  Professor,  "  the  display 
of  His  glory  in  the  works  of  creation,  and  to  the 
intelligent  creatures  whom  He  made  capable  of  dis 
cerning  it." 

"  Self-display,  self-glorification  is  not  regarded 
as  a  very  respectable  motive  in  finite  rational  crea 
tures  ;  and  can  it  (with  reverence)  be  considered  an 
end  worthy  of  God  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 

"  But  I  do  not  mean  a  selfish  display  :  the  man 
ifestation  works  the  happiness  of  the  intelligent, 
universe,"  said  the  Professor. 

"  Then  the  display  is  not  the  final  end ;  but  the 


AT     GREYSTONES.  131 

means  to  another  end/'  said  the  Doctor.  "  But 
even  the  production  of  happiness  is  not  the  highest 
moral  end  conceivable." 

"  But  do  you  exclude  happiness  ?  "  said  the 
Professor. 

"  No,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  the  Stoics  were  as 
wrong  as  the  Epicureans.  The  Supreme  Good  is 
in  the  union  of  Goodness  and  Happiness — but  the 
goodness  is  the  higher  end  of  the  two." 

"  How  do  you  regard  the  universe,  then,  in  re 
lation  to  God  ?  "  asked  the  Professor. 

"  As  the  work  of  an  infinite  artist,  working  out 
of  Love.  His  creative  work  is  indeed  the  reflection 
of  Himself — revealing  in  countless  myriads  of  finite 
forms  His  mind  and  heart — the  highest  product  of 
His  creative  love  being  spiritual  free  creatures,  the 
image  of  Himself,  capable  in  their  measure  of  con 
ceiving  in  thought  and  of  realizing  in  free  will  the 
ideas  of  Truth,  Beauty  and  Goodness,  of  which  He 
is  the  infinite  substance  and  cause — a  kingdom  of 
which  He  is  the  Father  and  Lord,  in  which  He 
dwells  and  over  which  He  presides,  that  indwelling 
and  providence  being  also  a  part  of  His  artistic 
work.  The  universe  is  God's  grand  Drama,  of 
which  He  is  at  once  Poet  and  Manager  ; — Infinitude 
the  theatre  ;  Eternity  the  time  of  action  ;  the  Con- 


132  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

flict  of  Good  and  Evil  the  secret  of  the  plot  and 
progress  of  the  play ;  the  Triumph  of  Good  the 
final  end  : — a  Drama  eternally  unfolding  in  His  eye 
— the  stage,  the  scenery,  the  situations  all  arranged, 
and  the  actors  called  forth  in  their  turn  and  time 
by  Him.  The  kingdom  of  Nature — all  its  creatures 
and  powers  are  the  unconscious  and  passive  instru 
ments  of  His  will ;  but  in  the  kingdom  of  Spirits, 
His  creatures  have  the  high  function  and  sacred  ob 
ligation  of  freely  concurring  with  His  design,  and 
working  for  Him  and  with  Him  for  the  accomplish 
ment  of  the  final  end.  You  and  I  and  all  spiritual 
creatures  have  our  several  parts,  and  to  act  well  the 
part  allotted  to  us,  with  a  free  and  willing  mind,  is 
at  once  our  dignity  and  our  end,  our  goodness  and 
our  blessedness  ;  and  so  only  can  we  become  parti 
cipant  of  the  Eternal  Life  of  the  Living  God." 
"  But  what  if  we  do  not,  husband  ?  " 
"  Well,  my  dear,  it  is  not  .God's  fault.  He  is 
always  within  us  for  light  and  for  strength.  As  to 
the  rest,  it  is  never  too  late  to  repent." 


AT     GKEYSTONES.  133 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  DOCTOR   PREACHES  TO  HIS  DAUGHTER QUOTES  WORDSWORTH  AND 

GETS  INTO  HEROICS — ALSO  HE  FULFILS  A  SCRIPTURAL  DUTY. — RE 
MARKABLE  STREET-SWEEPERS  AND  KNIFE-GRINDERS. — COMFORTING 
DOCTRINE  CONCERNING  SHIRT  MAKING  AND  STOCKING  MENDING. 

LILLY  OLDHAM  is  a  great  pet  of  her  father's.  I  do 
not  mean  that  her  mother  is  not  equally  fond  of 
her.  She  is  so,  but  she  does  not  show  it  in  the 
same  way.  There  is, 1  am  apt  to  think,  something 
in  the  quality  of  a  father's  love  for  a  daughter,  es 
pecially  for  an  only  daughter,  that  begets  a  peculiar 
tenderness  of  manner,  a  certain  caressing  playful 
ness,  different  from  that  which  is  prompted  by  a 
mother's  love.  Be  this  as  it  may,  it  is  conceded,  I 
believe,  that  fathers  are  apt  to  make  pets  of  their 
daughters  ;  and  Lilly  Oldham  being  an  only  daugh 
ter  was  not  the  less  likely  to  be  made  one  on  that 
account. 

She  is  a  bright-eyed,  bright-faced  girl  of  four 
teen,  not  regularly  beautiful,  but  with  a  fine  head, 


134  DOCTOR    OLD  II  AM 

a  noble  forehead,  clear  dark  eyes;  a  sweet  smile,  a 
joyous  laugh,  and  a  countenance  full  of  expression 
— altogether  more  charming  than  any  mere  regular 
beauty  ;  clear,  keen,  and  quick  as  lightning  in  the 
play  of  her  faculties,  but  impatient  of  long-con 
tinued  application  ;  generous  and  affectionate,  im 
pulsive  and  sensitive,  but  somewhat  self-willed  and 
inclined  to  amusement,  and  to  indulgence  of  the 
mood  and  humor  of  the  moment,  rather  than  to 
profitable  occupation,  particularly  in  her  reading. 
She  gets  indeed  her  school  lessons  faithfully  and 
cheerfully  enough  ;  but  as  to  the  rest,  finds  much 
more  pleasure  in  novels  and  tales,  than  in  books  of 
history  and  travels,  or  works  of  solid  instruction. 
The  height  of  felicity  for  her,  when  in  the  house, 
is  to  sit  curled  up  in  a  heap  on  the  sofa,  with  one 
of  Scott's,  or  Dickens',  or  Kingsley's,  or  Miss 
Yonge's  books  on  her  knees,  and  her  near-sighted 
eyes  close  to  the  page,  reading  aloud  to  her  brother 
Fred.  It  makes  no  matter  apparently  to  either  of 
them  how  often  the  book  has  been  read  before. 
The  enjoyment  seems  indeed  to  be  fresher  with 
every  new  reading  of  it. 

Mrs.  Oldham  has  always  been  aware  of  Lilly's 
faults,  and  has  affectionately  endeavored  to  correct 
them — not  without  success ;  for  there  is  a  visible 


AT     GKKYSTONES.  135 

improvement  in  her  of  late.  But  the  Doctor,  un 
til  lately,  has  thought  of  nothing  but  cultivating 
his  children's  qualities  as  playthings  in  his  moments 
of  leisure  and  relaxation — having  perfect  confidence 
in  his  wife's  right  guidance  of  them  in  all  things 
else.  He  now  rubs  his  eyes,  and  tries,  he  says,  to 
realize  that  his  little  girl  has  grown  so  big  as  to 
need  his  care,  but  cannot  rightly  make  it  out.  He 
admits,  however,  his  duty,  now  that  his  wife  has 
pointed  it  out  to  him,  and  tries  to  do  it  in  the  only 
way  he  can  form  any  notion  of — by  preaching  to 
her. 

"  Lilly,  my  dear  child,"  said  he  one  day  to  her, 
"  we  must  all  try  to  act  upon  principle  and  from  a 
sense  of  duty." 

"But,  dear  papa,  don't  you  think  it  is  dread 
fully  dreary,  the  way  some  persons  talk  about  prin 
ciple  and  duty  ?  Don't  you  remember  that  divin 
ity  student  to  whom  you  said  that  the  Good  Lord 
was  not  so  particular  about  some  things  as  he  was  ? 
He  thought  it  very  sinful  for  children  to  play  in  the 
garden  on  Sundays,  even  after  they  had  been  to 
church  and  had  learned  their  catechism  and  hymns 
at  home.  You  told  him  that  if  the  children  thought 
it  was  wrong,  of  course  they  ought  not  to  do  it,  but 
that  you  thought  Our  Lord  was  just  as  much  pleased 


136  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

to  see  them  scamper  about  the  garden  walks  after 
they  had  got  their  Sunday  lessons,  as  He  was  when 
they  were  getting  them— provided  they  had  not 
been  taught  to  think  it  wrong,  and  so  could  do  it 
with  a  good  conscience.  He  seemed  to  be  very 
much  shocked  at  what  you  said. 

"  Well,  papa,  I  heard  that  same  divinity  student 
once  say  he  always  took  his  walks  on  principle,  and 
laughed  once  a  day  from  a  sense  of  duty  !  It 
sounded  so  queer  !  I  am  sure  you  would  not  wish 
me  to  be  like  him," — she  added,  coming  up  to  his 
chair  and  leaning  on  his  shoulder,  and  looking  into 
his  face  with  half  laughing  eyes,—"  I  walk  because 
I  enjoy  it,  and  love  to  see  the  trees,  and  flowers, 
and  hills,  and  the  water  and  the  sky ;  and  as  to 
laughing  once  a  day  from  a  sense  of  duty — it  makes 
me  laugh  to  think  of  such  a  thing  !  I  laugh  a  hun 
dred  times  a  day  because  I  cannot  help  it.  Only 
think  of  that  divinity  student,  going  about  with  his 
face  so  solemn  every  day  and  all  day  long,  except 
that  one  laugh  from  a  sense  of  duty  !  It  must  be 
a  dreadfully  dreary  laugh.  I  don't  think  I  could 
join  in  it.  It  would  frighten  me  just  like  the  laugh 
of  that  stone  image  over  the  gate." 

"  Very  well,  Miss  Moppet,"  said  the  Doctor, 
with  a  smile,  smoothing  back  her  soft  dark  brown 


AT     GREYSTONES.  137 

hair  and  looking  into  her  dancing  eyes,  "  very  well 
indeed,  and  cunningly  put ;  but  you  must  not  es 
cape  me  in  this  way.  I  have  no  objection  to  your 
laughing  as  often  as  you  cannot  help  it.  I  like  to 
see  it  and  to  hear  it.  There  is  nothing  dreary  in 
your  laugh,  nothing  to  frighten  one  like  a  laughing- 
stone  image  ;  and  I  never  knew  you  laugh  when  it 
was  improper  to  do  so. 

"  As  to  the  rest,  I  allow  full  scope  for  all  spon 
taneities  and  impulses,  or — as  I  should  say  to  you 
— for  things  that  you  do  because  you  like  to  do 
them,  or  because  you  cannot  help  doing  them. 

"  But,  my  dear  little  girl,  life  was  not  given  us 
merely  for  scampering  about  among  the  birds  and 
flowers,  laughing  and  singing  and  dancing — with 
plenty  of  nice  stories  to  read  when  we  wish  to  sit 
still.  There's  your  French  and  Algebra,  and  other 
school  lessons  to  be  learned  :  I  don't  say  but  you 
do  them  well  enough.  But  there's  your  musical 
practice  which  you  do  not  take  to  as  kindly  as  you 
ought.  Then  there's  your  needle-work  that  your 
mother  wants  you  to  become  expert  in.  And  then 
there  are  a  great  many  books  of  voyages  and  trav 
els,  and  biography  and  history  and  poetry  for  you 
to  read,  which  would  be  very  pleasant  to  you  if  you 
would  only  once  get  well  into  them  ;  as  well  as 


138  DOCTOIl     OLD  HAM 

some  other  books  not  quite  so  entertaining  perhaps, 
but  which  you  must  read  if  you  would  be  an  intel 
ligent,  well-informed  woman. 

"  Now  these  things  are  duties  for  you.  Yet 
you  do  not  like  them  so  well  as  some  other  things. 
I  do  not  blame  you  for  it.  But  what  I  want  you 
to  think  of  is,  that  it  is  just  in  regard  to  these 
things  you  must  learn  to  live  for  duty  rather  than 
for  inclination,  to  do  what  you  ought  to  do  rather 
than  what  you  like  best,  if  you  would  be  either 
good  or  happy." 

"  But  what  a  pity,  dear  papa,  that  duty  and 
inclination  should  ever  clash — that  what  I  ought  to 
do  is  not  always  what  I  want  to  do." 

"  That  is,  you  are  sorry,  Lilly,  that  your  duties 
will  not  always  conform  themselves  to  your  inclina 
tions  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  mean,  papa  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  ask  whether  you  would  bend  your 
duties  to  your  wishes,  or  your  wishes  to  your  du 
ties  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  was  thinking  what  a  pity 
it  is  that  my  duties  would  not  be  kind  enough  to 
stand  aside,  and  let  me  have  my  way  without  staring 
me  so  sternly  in  the  face  all  the  time.  That  is  not 
right,  I  know.  But  what  a  blessed  thing  if  one's 


AT    GREYS  TONES.  139 

inclinations  always  went  exactly  along  in  the  line 
of  duty,  without  one's  thinking  any  thing  about  it, 
or  having  to  make  any  effort  to  go  right." 

"  Ah,  my  child,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  that  is  an 
angelical  (as  we  are  wont  to  say)  and  not  a  human 
goodness.  In  childhood  there  is  always  innocence, 
and  in  some  sweet-natured  and  saintly  children 
there  is  a  spontaneity  of  goodness  that  shows  so 
like  the  angelical,  that  it  makes  one  sad  to  think 
of  the  interval  that  lies  between  innocence  and  vir 
tue, — and  that  emerging  from  innocence  is  not  al 
ways  a  rising  to  virtue,  and  even  if  virtue  do  suc 
ceed  to  innocence,  so  much  of  the  former  sweet 
gracefulness  is  likely  to  be  lost.  But  then  we  are 
to  remember  for  our  comfort,  that  mere  innocent 
spontaneity,  however  right  in  its  direction  and  sweet 
and  beautiful  in  its  manifestations,  is  not  goodness, 
either  angelical  or  human.  Human  goodness  is  in 
this  world  for  the  most  part  virtue, — a  manly  energy 
in  doing  our  duty  in  spite  of  temptations  to  the 
contrary  ;  and  the  harder  the  struggle — the  strong 
er,  that  is,  the  temptations  and  the  poorer  the  na 
ture  we  received  in  respect  of  temper  and  disposi 
tion,  appetites  and  passions — the  greater  the  virtue 
if  we  do  our  duty.  The  good  Lord  has  made  us 
for  virtue  now,  and  so  ordered  our  nature  that  vir- 


140  DOCTOR     OLD  HAM 

tue  may  in  due  time  grow  up  and  be  unfolded,  or 
transformed  rather,  into  that  angelical  goodness  in 
which  reason  and  conscience,  will  and  inclination 
will  come  to  be  at  one,  so  that  it  will  require  no 
watchful  care  or  painful  effort  to  be  good.  Mean 
time  we  must  be  content  that  duty  is  our  law,  and 
self-denial  for  duty's  sake  our  virtue,  and  we  may 
be  thankful  it  brings  with  it  its  own  unspeakable 
reward  of  peace  and  well-being  too." 

"  Duty/'  continued  the  Doctor,  getting  up  into 
his  unconscious  "  altitudes,"  as  Phil  called  them  ; 
"  Duty  !  0  great  word  !  0  noble  and  beautiful 
thought !  The  faculty  to  think  the  thought,  to 
speak  the  word,  to  feel  its  meaning  and  its  power, 
attests  our  sublime  destination.  Duty  !  It  is  itself 
but  a  purely  ideal  conception — the  idea  of  obliga 
tion  to  do  right  because  it  is  right  ;  yet  purely  ideal 
as  it  is  in  its  essence,  it  is  an  idea  which,  when  em 
bodied  and  realized  (as  it  may  be)  in  men's  pur 
poses  and  actions,  gives  to  human  life  and  human 
history  all  its  worth,  all  its  nobleness — is  the  source 
of  every  thing  most  fair  and  beautiful  and  touch 
ing,  of  every  thing  great,  heroic  and  sublime. 

'  Stern  Lawgiver !  yet  thou  dost  wear 

The  Godhead's  most  benignant  grace ; 
Nor  know  we  any  thing  so  fair 
As  is  the  smile  upon  thy  face  : 


AT     GKEYSTONES.  141 

Flowers  laugh  before  thee  on  their  beds ; 
And  Fragrance  in  thy  footing  treads  ; 
Thou  dost  preserve  the  stars  from  -wrong  ; 

And  the   most  ancient  Heavens,  through  thee,  are  fresh  and 
strong.' 

"  But  bless  me,"  said  the  Doctor,  suddenly  rec 
ollecting  himself,  "  how  I  have  been  running  on — 
and  out  of  your  reach  too,  my  dear  little  girl,  is  it 
not  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  beautiful,  papa,  and  I  think  I  un 
derstand  a  good  deal  of  it.  But  that  about  the 
flowers  and  the  stars  is  not  so  clear  to  me." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  child,  it  means  that  it  is  nothing 
but  obedience  to  the  laws  of  their  being  that  makes 
the  flowers  beautiful  and  fragrant,  keeps  the  stars 
from  getting  out  of  place  and  the  heavens  from  de 
caying  through  old  age  ;  and  the  poet  gets  very  po 
etical  about  it,  and  speaks  as  if  they  were  alive  and 
knew  those  laws,  and  followed  them  of  their  own 
will.  But  the  thing  he  intends  to  signify  to  us  is 
that  Duty  is  the  Law  of  our  Being  and  Well- Be 
ing,  and  we,  who  are  above  the  flowers  and  the 
stars  in  knowing  our  law  and  in  being  able  to  fol 
low  it,  must  do  of  our  own  accord  what  they  do 
blindly  and  of  necessity — be  obedient,  that  is,  to 
God's  will. 

"  The  lines  are  from  Wordsworth's  grand  Ode 


142  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

to  Duty,  which  you  must  learn,  and  I  will  talk  to 
you  about  it  some  other  time.  But  I  will  not  go 
into  any  more  heroics  now.  I  only  wanted  to  tell 
you  that  you  must  not  be  listless,  nor  spend  your 
time  in  amusement,  but  must  be  busy  to  some  good 
purpose. 

"  And  what  an  example  you  have  in  your 
mother,  my  child.  In  the  twenty  years  we  have 
lived  together,  I  have  never  known  her  spend  half 
an  hour  in  listless  idleness,  or  indulge  herself  in  any 
book  or  amusement  when  there  was  any  thing  else 
that  should  be  done.  Here  she  comes  now,  with 
her  work-basket  full  of  stockings  to  be  looked  over, 
though  I  know  she  would  like  much  better  to  go  on 
with  Irving's  Life  of  Washington/' 

"  Mrs.  Oldham,  my  dear,"  continued  the  Doc 
tor,  addressing  his  wife,  as  she  came  into  the  room, 
"  I  have  just  been  obeying  the  Holy  Scriptures  in 
regard  to  you." 

' c  How  is  that,  husband  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Oldham, 
in  reply. 

"  I  have  been  praising  you,  my  dear." 

"  Is  that  a  Scriptural  duty  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  it  is.  Don't  you  remember  the 
place  where  the  Bible  speaks  of  the  virtuous  wo 
man  and  of  her  husband  praising  her  ?  " 


AT     GREYSTONES.  143 

"  But  what  is  such  a  woman  to  do,  if  she  have 
no  husband  to  praise  her  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Oldham. 

"  But  the  passage  supposes  she  has/'  said  the 
Doctor  in  reply.  "  Besides,"  he  added,  "  the  very 
meaning  of  the  word  in  the  original  tongue  is  wife 
and  housemother." 

"  But/7  replied  Mrs.  Oldham,  it  is  only  said 
1  her  husband — he  praiseth  her ; '  does  that  neces 
sarily  imply  that  her  husband  is  bound  to  praise 
her  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,  if  you  look  to  the  whole 
of  it.  It  says  also  that  '  she  SHALL  BE  PRAISED  ; ' 
and  says  it  in  a  way  which  means  that  praise  is  her 
due,  and  surely  due  from  her  husband — one  would 
say  so  even  if  he  were  not  expressly  named  as  the 
person  that  was  to  praise  her." 

"  But  does  it  mean  that  my  husband  is  to  praise 
me  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Oldham. 

"  To  be  sure  it  does  ;  for  you  are  a  virtuous 
woman,  a  good  wife  and  housemother.  The  house 
wifely  virtues  of  the  nineteenth  century  differ  in 
their  form  from  those  of  the  days  of  Solomon  ;  but 
the  essence  of  them  is  the  same.  And  you,  my 
dear,  possess,  in  the  form  befitting  an  American 
wife  of  the  present  day,  all  the  virtues  of  King 
Lemuel's  mother's  pattern  woman — except  that 


144  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

you  do  not  keep  your  lamp  burning  all  night  and 
get  up  before  day — a  virtue  I  would  not  like  you 
to  possess.  You  are  not  an  early  riser,  but  when 
you  are  up,  I  am  sure  Lemuel's  mother  could  not 
wish  for  a  more  exemplary  model  of  industry,  of 
cheerful  household  energy  and  cleverness — after  the 
fashion  of  modern  times.  You  do  not  indeed  ( lay 
hands  to  the  spindle/  nor  your  '  hands  hold  the 
distaff' — those  once  indispensable  and  commenda 
ble  implements  of  feminine  industry  being  now  ob 
solete  ;  but  your  exploits  with  the  scissors  and 
needle  are  a  fair  and  proper  offset.  Nor  can  it  be 
said  of  you,  as  of  Lemuel's  mother's  heroine — • 

'  She  makcth  fine  linen  and  selleth  it.' 

"  But  then  you  make  up  the  linen  which  you 
buy,  and  that  is  a  great  deal  more  than  most  wo 
men  nowadays  do — and  a  saving  of  expense  to 
me,  perhaps  a  sufficient  saving  ;  for  the  domestic 
manufacture  of  linen  is  gone  out  of  vogue  because 
the  mills,  I  believe,  make  it  the  cheapest.  Neither 
are  you  one  who 


delivereth  girdles  unto  the  merchant,' 


home-made  girdles  (whatever  they  were)  in  barter 
for  furbelows  you  cannot  make  ;  but  then  you  are 


AT     GEEYSTONES.  145 

mostly  content  with  such  furbelows  as  you  can 
make — which  comes  pretty  nearly  to  the  same 
thing.  And  as  to  the  rest,  hearken  to  '  the  words 
of  King  Lemuel,  and  the  Prophecy  that  his  mother 
taught  him '  concerning  the  virtuous  wife  : 


'  For  her  price  is  far  above  rubies  : 
The  heart  of  her  husband  doth  safely  trust  in  her, 
So  that  he  shall  have  no  need  of  spoil ' — - 


"  No  need,  that  is,  of  making  forays  upon  the 
flocks  of  neighboring  tribes,  or  of  plundering  trav 
elling  caravans — the  Oriental  mode  of  stocking  the 
larder  and  replenishing  the  purse,  equivalent  to  the 
modern  practice  of  burglary,  or  going  upon  the 
road,  or  at  least  (which  is  about  the  same  in  mor 
als)  of  seeking  the  c  spoils  of  office '  to  make  the 
pot  boil — a  necessity  from  which  I  count  it  a  bless 
ed  thing  the  thrift  of  my  wife  exempts  me. 
1  c  But  hearken  further  : 


;  She  will  do  him  good  and  not  evil 
All  the  days  of  her  life. 

She  stretchcth  out  her  hand  to  the  poor, 

Yea,  she  reacheth  forth  her  hands  to  the  needy. 

She  is  not  afraid  of  snow  for  her  household  ; 

For  all  her  household  are  clothed  with  double  garments. 


146  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

She  opcneth  her  mouth  with  wisdom : 
And  in  her  tongue  is  the  law  of  kindness. 
She  looketh  well  to  the  ways  of  her  household, 
And  eateth  not  the  bread  of  idleness. 
Her  children  rise  up  and  call  her  blessed ; 
Her  husband  also ;  and  he  praiseth  her,  saying, 
'  Many  daughters  have  done  virtuously, 
But  thou  excellest  them  all  ! 
Favor  is  deceitful,  and  beauty  is  vain  ; 

But  a  woman  thatfearcth  the  LORD — SHE  SHALL  BE  PRAISED. 
Give  her  the  fruit  of  her  hands  ; 
And  let  her  own  works  praise  her  in  the  gates? 


"  There,  Mrs.  Oldham,  that  is  yon.  And  now 
go  to  your  work-basket  and  stockings,  and  let  Lilly 
learn  to  be  like  her  mother." 

"  Oh,  what  nonsense  you  talk,  husband,"  said 
Mrs.  Oldham,  laughing.  "  My  work-basket  and 
stockings  \  Elevated  objects  for  which  to  live  !  A 
noble  usefulness,  indeed  !  " 

"Kail  not,  my  dear,"  said  the  Doctor, — "  rail 
not  even  jestingly  at  the  homeliness  of  your  duties. 
The  smallest,  homeliest,  humblest  actions  are  en 
nobled  by  the  sentiment  of  love  and  duty.  Think 
of  the  two  archangels — one  sent  to  rule  the  British 
realm,  the  other  to  sweep  the  streets  of  London, 
and  both  finding  equal  dignity  and  equal  pleasure 
in  the  faithful  doing  of  their  work.  Bethink  you 
too  with  what  joyous  alacrity  the  cherubim  would 


AT     GREYSTONES.  147 

grind  knives  along  the  streets  of  our  town,  if  set  to 
do  it  by  their  Lord  and  ours  ;  and  how  well  they 
would  grind  them  too  !  And  not  a  single  seraph, 
winging  by  on  swift  pinions  upon  some  embassy  of 
highest  import  to  the  realm-ruling  angel,  would 
have  a  thought  of  scorn  for  the  faithful  knife- 
grinder's,  or  the  cheerful  street-sweeper's  place  and 
work. 

"  Look  then  upon  your  work-basket  as  a  badge 
of  dignity,  and  upon  your  scissors  and  needles  as 
holy  implements.  Shirt-making  is  sacred.  Stock 
ing-mending  is  divine. 

"  But  I  know  your  heart,  my  dear  wife.  Would 
you  neglect  your  work-basket  in  order  to  be  direc 
tress  or  secretary  to  the  Society  for  planting  a  Chris 
tian  coffee-growing  colony  at  Borioboola  Gha  on 
the  left  bank  of  the  Niger  ?  No,  you  would  not, 
iny  dear. 

"  Would  you  let  my  shirts  and  Phil's  go  with 
out  buttons,  in  order  that  you  might  make  flannel 
shirts  for  the  benighted  dwellers  in  Timbuctoo  ? 
No,  my  dear  wife,  you  would  not. 

' '  Would  you  let  your  children  go  about  without 
warm  stockings  to  their  feet,  in  order  that  you 
might  go  about  begging  money  to  buy  warming- 
pans  for  the  children  of  the  tropics,  or  even  to  buy 


143  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

Mount  Yernon  at  ten  times  its  proper  price  ?  No, 
Mrs.  Oldham,  my  dearest  wife,  I  know  you  better. 
When  your  work-basket  is  cleared,  you  will  go  and 
carry  comfort  and  coals  to  poor  sickly  Mrs.  John 
son,  who  has  three  children  to  maintain,  and  no 
way  to  do  it  but  making  pantaloons  for  the  slop 
shops  at  eighteen  cents  the  pair.  And  you  will  find 
more  honor  and  more  pleasure  in  it  than  in  unit 
ing  all  the  offices  of  the  Ladies'  Mount  Vernon 
Association  in  your  own  single  person. 

"  And  Lilly,  my  dear  child,  I  hope  you  will  al 
ways  be  of  your  mother's  way  of  thinking." 

"  But  surely,  husband,  you  don't  object  to  the 
Mount  Vernon  Association,  and  ladies  holding  of 
fice  in  it  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear,  not  at  all.  The  object  is  noble. 
I  am  only  mortified  and  ashamed  for  my  country 
that  this  should  be  the  way  of  accomplishing  it — 
that  it  should  be  left  to  the  women  to  gather  to 
gether  in  such  ways  the  money  that  ought  to  have 
been  appropriated  long  ago  by  the  nation.  One 
million  (out  of  the  twenty  that  have  been  probably 
wasted  this  very  year,  in  jobs  corruptly  given  to 
President-making  politicians)  would  have  been  an 
ample  provision  for  the  purpose. 

' '  No,  my  dear,  it  may  be  as  fitting,  as  it  is  ne- 


AT      GREYSTONES.  149 

cessary,  for  some  women  to  hold  office  in  this  asso 
ciation  :  only  it  is  not  your  vocation,  any  more  than 
it  would  be  mine  to  go  about  lecturing  in  its  behalf 
— even  if  I  could  draw  together  such  audiences  as 
Everett  delights/' 


150  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 


CHAPTER    XV. 

WHEREIN  THE    DOCTOR    SAYS    PSHAW  TO  SOMETHING    ADVANCED  BY    THE 

AUTHOR,  AND  ADVANCES  HIS  OWN    NOTIONS. COMFORT    AND    SWILL 

NOT    THE    HIGHEST   FELICITY  FOR   RATIONAL    BEINGS. — THE   WORLD 
NEEDS  MARTYRS,  BUT  CROOKE  RACKET  NOT  THE  RIGHT  TYPE. 

THE  DOCTOR  is  not  of  a  turn  of  mind  that  disposes 
him  to  think  as  other  people  think,  and  to  do  as 
they  do  merely  because  they  think  so  and  do  so. 
He  accepts  nothing — save  coin,  bank-notes,  what 
ever  passes  for  money — because  it  has  the  stamp 
of  conventional  acceptance,  nor  at  the  common 
valuation,  unless  it  coincides  with  his  own  estimate 
of  its  intrinsic  worth.  Popular  suffrages  do  not 
seem  to  have  with  him  the  weight  they  have  with 
most  persons,  and  are  perhaps  entitled  to,  particu 
larly  in  regard  to  the  public  personages  of  the  age  • 
indeed,  I  am  afraid — if  the  truth  must  be  con 
fessed — that  the  admiring  acclamation  of  all  Bos 
ton  would  not  of  itself  be  enough  to  convince  him 


AT     GREYSTONES.  151 

that  this  man  was  a  great  man,  statesman,  and  pa 
triot,  that  one  a  great  true  poet,  or  the  other  one 
a  great  genuine  thinker  and  inspired  prophet — the 
rather  as  he  has,  besides,  noted  that  great  men, 
bards,  and  prophets  have  in  their  generation  been 
sometimes  undiscovered,  sometimes  vilified,  and 
sometimes  even  crucified,  while  charlatans  and  im 
postors  have  carried  off  the  praises  and  prizes  of 
the  age.  In  short,  it  matters  not  greatly  to  him 
what  the  general  opinion  is,  so  far  as  the  forming 
of  his  own  is  concerned.  If  he  thinks  as  other 
people  do,  it  is  not  so  much  because  they  think  so, 
as  because  he  has  come  to  think  so  on  grounds  of 
his  own. 

In  all  this  the  Doctor  is  simply  and  uncon 
sciously  honest.  There  is  nothing  of  self-conceit, 
caprice,  love  of  paradox,  vanity,  or  pride  of  inde 
pendence  in  him.  He  is  no  more  inclined  to  reject 
than  to  accept  the  prevailing  opinion  merely  be 
cause  it  is  the  prevailing  opinion  ;  and  whether  he 
agrees  with  the  world  or  differs  from  it — in  either 
case  it  is  simply  because  he  cannot  help  it.  As  to 
the  rest,  there  is  nothing  of  arrogance,  bitterness, 
or  intolerance  in  his  nature. 

Professor  Clare,  unlike  the  Doctor,  is  always  in 
happy  sympathy  with  the  prevailing  opinion. 


152  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

Whatever  all  the  world — his  world,  the  "  highest 
respectability"  world — thinks,  he  thinks.  Its  creed 
is  his  creed,  its  law  his  law — not  through  reflection 
or  any  process  of  thought,  but  spontaneously,  in  an 
altogether  unconscious  way.  It  is  just  the  consti 
tution  of  his  mind  that  he  should,  in  all  simplicity 
and  godly  sincerity,  be  of  the  same  way  of  thinking 
with  the  world  around  him. 

It  may  not  argue  a  high  order  of  mind,  or  a 
very  great  force  of  character,  but  I  confess  I  am 
apt  to  look  upon  this  disposition  of  honest  sympa 
thy  with  the  spirit  of  one's  age,  as  on  several  ac 
counts  a  felicity  and  a  good  fortune  :  it  is  such  a 
saving  of  labor  and  trouble,  and  procures  so  many 
advantages  of  popular  favor  and  good-will.  I  say 
honest  sympathy — and  I  lay  stress  upon  it  ;  for  as 
there  is  nothing  more  despicable  than  hypocritical 
compliances  prompted  by  a  mere  sharp  look-out  or 
mean  instinct  of  selfishness,  so  I  should  be  sorry  to 
be  thought  capable  of  regarding  any  advantages 
thus  acquired  as  a  genuine  felicity  and  a  true  good 
fortune. 

But  as  for  that  thoroughly  honest  sympathy 
which  goes  spontaneously  along  with  the  popular 
current,  in  perfect  good  faith  without  any  selfish 
ends — there  is  certainly  nothing  dishonorable  in  it, 


AT      GBEYSTONES.  153 

and  so  the  advantages  that  follow  it  are  not  against 
equity  and  right.  What  if  the  world  does  bestow 
equal  favor  upon  the  make-believe  allegiance  of  the 
mean  and  base  ?  That  argues,  indeed,  a  want  of 
discrimination  in  the  world — also  a  universe  some 
what  out  of  joint ;  but  is  it  any  reason  why  Pro 
fessor  Clare  should  not  enjoy  advantages  which  in 
his  case  are  not  the  rewards  of  baseness  and  mean 
ness  ?  And  these  advantages  are  so  many  and  va 
rious  that — as  I  said — I  am  prone  to  think  it  a 
good  fortune  whenever  they  can  be  honestly  enjoyed. 
We  all  know  what  a  favorite  he  generally  is  who  is 
unaffectedly  pleased  with  everybody  ;  and  when  one 
sees  with  the  world's  eyes,  holds  with  the  world's 
faith,  and  walks  in  the  world's  ways,  he  is  in  the 
way  of  receiving  a  thousand  tokens  of  the  world's 
good-will.  Besides,  it  is  so  much  more  pleasant  to 
go  with  the  stream.  Independently  of  the  favor 
one  meets  with,  one  gets  over  the  ground  with  more 
ease  and  speed  if  his  path  lies  in  the  same  direc 
tion  all  the  world  is  moving  in,  and  has  also  the 
sense  of  companionship,  which  is  comfortable  when 
one  likes  his  company. 

"Pshaw,"    said   the    Doctor,  to    whom   I  was 
making  these  remarks  about  the  Professor  the  other 

day — "  you  are  trying  your  hand  at   '  considering 
7* 


154  0  C  T  O  11     O  L  D  II  A  M 

too  curiously  ; '  but  the  game  is  not  worth  the  can 
dle,  it  is  analysis  wasted,  whether"  you  really  think 
as  you  say,  or  only  amuse  yourself  with  saying  so. 
It  is  well  enough  for  Professor  Clare  to  be  what  he 
honestly  is — seeing  he  cannot  be  any  thing  else — 
and  to  enjoy  the  consequences  of  being  so,  if  they 
are  matters  of  enjoyment  to  him.  But  let  the 
dead  bury  their  dead.  How  would  it  go  with  a 
world  filled  only  with  Professor  Clares  ?  It  would 
fare  ill  for  human  progress.  Where  would  be  the 
discoverers  and  inventors,  the  heroes  and  reform 
ers  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  I.  "  I  was  not  setting  up  the 
Professor  as  the  highest  type  of  a  man — I  should 
be  loath  to  stand  godfather  to  his  achieving  any 
heroic  exploits.  But  you  must  admit  there  are 
many  inconveniences,  discomforts,  and  perils  in  be 
ing  too  much  ahead  of  one's  age,  or  in  standing  out 
all  alone  against  it.  Think  of  it.  Even  in  our 
own  times,  through  what  obstacles  had  George  Ste- 
phenson  to  fight  his  way  :  visionary  madman,  fool, 
quack,  charlatan,  impostor,  were  the  mildest  judg 
ments  he  encountered  from  the  highest  scientific 
and  practical  authorities  retained  against  him  by 
the  wealth  and  social  influence  of  his  country. 
How  the  pompous  wise  ones  of  Fulton's  day  shook 


AT     GREYSTONES.  155 

their  empty  heads  in  solemn  derision  of  his  vision 
ary  ideas.  Think  of  Columbus  struggling  for  eigh 
teen  years,  amidst  poverty,  obloquy,  contempt,  and 
insult,  against  the  learning,  science  and  religion  of 
his  times,  for  leave  to  give  a  new  world  to  the  old 
one." 

"  What  of  that  ?  "  said  the  Doctor  ;  "  they 
were  better  off  than  the  Clares  of  their  times." 

"  You  mean  they  conquered  success,  triumph, 
and  the  world's  recognition  at  last,"  I  rejoined. 

"  No  :  independently  of  that,"  replied  the  Doc 
tor,  "  they  were  better  off  in  the  midst  of  their 
trials.  Exemption  from  discomforts  and  the  enjoy 
ment  of  the  world's  sweet  voices  is  not  the  highest 
style  of  happiness." 

"  Well,  I  suppose,  then,  it  is  not  worth  while," 
I  continued,  "  to  remind  you  of  poor  old  Galileo  in 
the  dungeons  of  the  inquisition  for  being  so  much 
wiser  than  the  wisdom  of  his  age, — nor  of  Socrates 
in  prison  compelled  to  drink  hemlock  for  the  same 
reason." 

"  What  of  that  ?  "  returned  the  Doctor  ;  "  dun 
geons  and  hemlock  are  by  no  means  the  worst 
things  that  can  befall  a  man,  unless  it  be  a  truth 
that  man  was  made  only  for  comfort  and  swill. 
Only  as  to  poor  old  Galileo,  he  was  not  quite  as 


156 


DOCTOR     OLDHAM 


brave  as  Socrates  ;  if  ho  had  been,  he  might  have 
been   a  martyr   of  equal   reverence— such   as  the 
world  has  frequent  need  of." 
"  Need  of  martyrs  ?  "  said  I. 
"  Yes,  sir/'  replied  the  Doctor,  "the  world  can 
not  get  on  without  them—cannot  otherwise  well 
be  brought  to  a  stand  on  any  perilously  downhill 
course.     No  sacred  cause  especially  can  thrive  well 
without  martyrs/' 

"  But  you  would  not  have  a  man  go  about  bat 
tling  the  world,  and  inviting  martyrdom,  like  Crooke 
Backet  ?  "  said  I. 

"  No/'  replied  the  Doctor,  "  a  reformer  ought 
to  be  wise  as  well  as  brave.     If  a  man  has  a  great 
sacred  cause  to  carry  against  the  world,  a  wise  dis 
cretion  will  often  prompt  many  compliances  and 
seeming  compliances — reserves  and  withholdings — 
in  order  to  get  the  world  at  advantage.     But  Crooke 
Kacket  does  not  know  the  wisdom  of  reserves  and 
'  brilliant  flashes  of  silence ' — as  Sidney  Smith  says 
—judiciously  interposed  between  the  gleams  of  his 
artillery.     If  he  knew  how  to  prepare  a  good  mor 
tar  bed,  and  get  a  good  raking  position,  he  might 
make  a  wonderful  crashing  among  the   shams  and 
falsities  of  the  age.     But  he  fires  off  a  forty-eight 
pounder  right  into  a  whirlwind,  when  he  ought  to 


AT     GKEYSTONES.  157 

know  it  could  not  have  the  slightest  effect  to  stop 
it.  He  runs  his  head  plump  against  a  stone  wall, 
when  he  ought  to  expect  nothing  for  it  but  a  broken 
skull.  He  calls  the  world  mad,  in  a  way  and  under 
circumstances  that,  if  he  had  an  ounce  of  discre 
tion,  he  would  see  could  not  possibly  result  in  any 
thing  else  than  the  world  returning  the  compliment 
by  a  vote  so  overwhelming  as  to  leave  him  in  a  mi 
nority  of  one  :  and  then  because  the  world  does 
outvote  him,  he  likens  himself  to  Luther,  St.  Paul, 
and  even  to  Him  of  whom  the  Jews  and  His  own 
kindred  said  He  had  a  Devil,  and  was  beside  Him 
self.  But  Crooke  Kacket  is  a  fool  ;  and  a  reformer 
has  no  business  to  be  a  fool :  only  there  is  no  law 
of  the  land  against  it — none  but  the  law  of  the 
moral  universe,  that  if  a  man  will  be  a  fool,  he 
must  take  the  consequences." 

"  How  many  men  of  great  parts  does  egotism 
spoil  for  true  reformers  and  good  martyrs." 


158  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


LOT  S  HOUSE  IN  SODOM. — JONAH  IN  NEW  YORK. — THE  DOCTOR  VILIFIES 
UNIVERSAL  SUFFRAGE  AND  AN  ELECTIVE  JUDICIARY  IN  A  VERY 
SHOCKING  WAY  ;  AND  MAKES  THE  MOST  UNSUPPOSABLE  SUPPOSI 
TIONS. AN  EXTRAORDINARY  TICKET  FOR  CITY  OFFICERS. 


''  MY  DEAR/'  said  the  Doctor  one  evening,  looking 
across  the  table  to  his  wife,  who  was  at  the  moment 
absorbed  in  a  volume. of  Macaulay's  History,  "  can 
you  tell  me  the  street  and  number  of  Lot's  house 
m  Sodom?" 

"  Bless  me,  husband,  what  makes  you  ask  that 
question  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Oldham. 

"  Why,  my  dear,  I  have  just  been  writing  the 
address  on  my  letter  to  your  brother  John,  and  I 
perceive  I  have  directed  it  to  West  Twenty-First 
street,  Sodom,  and  that  made  me  think  of  Lot, 
and  how  near  neighbors  he  and  your  brother  might 
be." 

"  I  think,  mother/'  said  Phil,  whose  attention 
was  drawn  by  this  talk  from  the  page  of  Chitty  he 


AT     GREYSTONES.  159 

was  poring  over,  "  you  ought  solemnly  to  remind 
my  father  that  Lot  is  dead,  and  therefore  he  and 
Uncle  John  can't  possibly  be  neighbors." 

Phil  was  an  incipient  lawyer  and  a  presumptive 
judge — but  at  present  much  given  to  setting  small 
witticisms  on  the  back  of  other  people's  remarks. 

"  Phil  is  like  the  celebrated  Fox,"  said  the 
Doctor.  .  .  . 

"  I  am  glad  it's  not  the  celebrated  Goose/'  said 
Phil  in  an  undertone.  "  I  confess  to  being  un 
sound  on  that." 

.  ..."  Or  the  celebrated  somebody  else," 
continued  the  Doctor,  not  heeding  the  interruption, 
"  of  whom  the  great  Pitt  or  the  witty  Sheridan — I 
shall  not  decide  which — said  he  drew  on  his  imagi 
nation  for  his  facts  and  on  his  memory  for  his  wit. 
Phil's  draft  on  his  memory  in  this  case,  however, 
is  a  good  one.  Charles  Lamb's  four  Scotchmen, 
springing  up  at  once  to  set  him  right  as  to  the  un 
reasonableness  of  wishing  for  Burns's  presence  at 
the  dinner-table,  instead  of  his  son's,  is  one  of 
Lamb's  characteristic  and  exquisite  touches  of  hu 
mor.  If  his  Scotchmen  were  here,  Phil,  they  would 
perhaps  have  reminded  me  not  only  that  Lot  is 
dead,  but  also  that  he  moved  out  of  Sodom  some 


160  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

time  before  his  death,  and  before  your  Uncle  John 
moved  in." 

"  But  let  me  look  at  your  letter,  husband/'  said 
Mrs.  Oldham. 

He  handed  it  to  her. 

"  I  see,"  said  she,  "  you  have  got  it  down  in 
your  largest  letters.  It  all  comes  from  your  always 
calling  New  York  Sodom.  Are  you  not  ashamed 
to  give  such  an  ill  name  to  my  native  place  ?  " 

"  Father's  bump  of  veneration  is  not  large," 
said  Phil  ;  u  you  ought  not,  mother,  to  be  hurt  at 
any  thing  he  says.  He  has  been  heard  to  speak 
very  disrespectfully  of  his  own  native  place  ;  and  I 
shouldn't  be  surprised  to  hear  him  call  the  capital 
of  his  country  Tophet." 

"  Humph, — draft  on  Sidney  Smith  this  time," 
said  the  Doctor.  "  But  touching  your  native  town, 
Mrs.  Oldham,  you  have  done  it  a  great  deal  too 
much  honor  by  being  born  there — though  it  was 
not  then  the  Sodom  it  is  now.  It  is  a  great  conso 
lation  to  me  that  you  are  so  much  better  than  your 
native  place.  It  is  not  worthy  of  you  ;  and  it  has 
no  proper  appreciation  of  your  worth.  You  are 
naturally  unable  to  think  ill  of  any  body  or  any 
thing,  and  like  all  such  good  and  kind-hearted  per 
sons  as  you  are,  you  have,  no  doubt,  many  tender 


AT     GEEYSTONES.  161 

memories  of  the  scenes  of  your  early  years  :  and 
so,  I  sometimes  think  you  are  not  quite  thankful 
enough  for  the  privilege  of  being  out  of  that  bad 
place." 

"  I  am  sure,  husband,  I  don't  wish  to  go  back 
there  to  live/'  said  Mrs.  Oldharn. 

"  I  am  heartily  glad  of  it,  my  dear/'  replied  the 
Doctor.  "I  should  be  inconsolably  afflicted,  if  it 
were  otherwise.  If  indeed  it  were  possible — I 
know  it  is  not,  and  I  put  it  merely  as  a  monstrous 
supposition — -that  you  could  desert  your  husband 
and  go  down  there  to  live,  after  being  once  fairly 
out  of  the  place,  I  should  be  filled  with  the  most 
distressing  apprehensions.  It  would  imply  in  fact 
an  awful  change  in  your  nature,  and  would  justify 
the  worst  forebodings.  Why,  Lot's  wife  would 
be  a  model  woman  compared  with  you.  She 
never  once  set  foot  in  Sodom  after  she  left  it  with 
Lot.  Could  not  stir  to  go  lack — do  you  say  ? 
There  is  no  proof  she  wanted  to  go  back,  or  would 
have  done  so  if  she  had  not  been  stiffened  into  a 
pillar  of  salt.  Looked  back — did  she  ?  Well, 
what  of  that  ?  That  don't  begin  to  prove  that 
she  wanted  to  go  back,  or  would  have  tried  to  go 
if  she  had  not  been  so  fast  fixed.  It  only  proves 
that  she  wanted  to  get  a  glimpse  of  Sodom,  merely 


162  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

to  see  how  things  were  going  on  there.  Pardon 
able  curiosity  in  a  woman,  particularly  if  you  con 
sider  the  smoke  and  sulphurous  smell.  Pardon- 
able;  I  say  it  seems  to  me.  But  she  was  punished 
even  for  that — stiffened  into  a  pillar  of  salt,  and 
planted  there  forever.  And  if  she  was  thus  dealt 
with  for  merely  looking  back,  what  and  how  much 
more  dreadful  must  have  been  her  fate,  if  she  had 
wanted  to  go  back,  or  had  tried  to  go  back,  or  had 
actually  deserted  her  husband  and  gone  back  ! 
Think  of  it,  my  dear  wife  !  It  makes  me  shud 
der/' 

"  There,  that  will  do,  husband  :  you  have 
talked  all  this  nonsense  because  I  want  to  spend 
the  Christmas  holidays  with  my  mother.  Surely 
you  do  not  wish  me  not  to  go  ?  " 

"No  my  dear — you  have  a  mother  living  in 
Sodom.  It  does  not  appear  that  Lot's  wife  had. 
I  cannot  object  to  a  short  visit  of  filial  piety.  I 
shall  calmly  await  your  return.  I  cannot  but  be 
lieve  the  city  will  be  spared  till  you  are  safely  out." 

"  Well,  take  your  letter  then,  and  put  it  into  a 
new  envelope.  Costs  you  that,  and  another  stamp. 
Serves  you  right  for  talking  such  absurd  stuff." 

"  No,  Mrs.  Oldham,  I  am  not  going  to  lose  my 
envelope,  or  my  stamp.  Kemember  who  it  was 


AT     GREY  STONES.  163 

that  said  '  a  penny  saved  is  twopence  earned/  and 
'  a  pin  a  day  ?s  a  groat  a  year ' — which  latter  fru 
gal  truth  comes  specially  home  to  the  business  and 
bosoms  of  your  sex,  my  dear,  who  mostly  use  that 
abominable  substitute  for  honest  fastenings.  I  do 
not  know  whether  that  profane  wag  who  divided 
the  human  race  into  men,  women,  and  clergymen, 
has  laid  down  the  differential  or  distinguishing  pe 
culiarity  of  each  several  sort,  but  I  am  sure  the 
definition  of  woman  should  be  a  pin-using  animal. 
No,  my  dear,  I  shall  waste  no  envelope,  no  stamp. 
I  shall  just  run  my  pen  through  the  word  Sodom, 
and  put  New  York  under  it,  thus  : 


"  Who  knows  what  wholesome  thoughts  and 
fears  leading  to  repentance  and  postponement  of 


164  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

impending  fate,  its  perusal  by  corrupt  officials — 
clerks  and  carriers,  may  lead  to.  It  may  be  like 
Jonah's  preaching  that  saved  Nineveh.  It  is  not 
to  be  supposed  that  the  sound  of  the  prophet's 
voice  reached  the  ears  of  all  the  Ninevites.  His 
warnings  were  repeated  by  those  who  heard  them, 
and  so  spread  out  all  .over  the  city.  A  little  leaven 
leaveneth  the  whole  lump.  It  would  almost  make 
me  hopeful  for  the  salvation  of  your  native  place, 
wicked  as  it  is,  but  that  I  remember  democratic 
institutions  did  not  prevail  in  Nineveh  ;  and  so 
when  the  Lord  bid  them  repent,  and  the  King  bid 
them  betake  themselves  to  sackcloth  and  prayers, 
following  his  example,  the  people  did  as  they  were 
bid,  and  were  saved.  But  catch  the  democracy  of 
New  Sodom  tolerating  any  such  interference  with 
their  sovereign  power.  Do  you  think  Jonah  would 
be  safe  there  ?  Wall  Street  might  be  too  busy, 
Fifth  Avenue  too  fine,  to  heed  him  or  to  harm  him. 
But  could  he  traverse  the  Sixth  Ward  unhurt  ? 
Would  he  not  wish  himself  safe  in  the  whale's  bel 
ly  before  he  got  clear  of  Corlear's  Hook  ?  The 
'  Bowery  Boys '  would  they  not  convert  him  into  a 
bag  of  sore  bones  ?  And  ten  to  one,  would  not 
some  '  Dead  Kabbit '  leader  finish  him  with  six 
inches  of  inevitable  dirk  knife  ? 


AT     GREYSTONES.  165 

"  And  in  such  a  case  what  do  you  think  would 
become  of  the  murderer  ?  Hanged — do  you  say  ? 
Not  a  bit  of  it.  He  is  far  too  useful  in  other  ways 
to  he  put  to  such  a  use  as  that.  Let  that  he  for 
friendless  negroes,  and  those  who  have  no  political 
influence.  But  this  fellow  is  a  citizen,  a  free  voter, 
arid  at  the  head  of  a  large  hand  of  powerful  and 
well-armed  voters — can  control  the  result  at  half  a 
dozen  polls,  through  his  skill  and  prowess  in  bring 
ing  up  the  right  and  keeping  away  the  wrong  sort 
of  votes.  He  has  no  fears.  He  knows  who  have 
the  making  of  all  the  public  authorities,  except  the 
police,  and  mean  to  have  the  making  of  them  again 
goon — for  His  insufferable  usurpation  to  deprive 
them  of  their  indefeasable  right  of  having  every 
thing  their  own  way.  The  police  may  arrest  him 
That  is  all  they  can  do.  He  must  be  committed 
indeed,  and  go  through  the  forms  of  law.  It  is 
the  wisest  course.  It  is  attended  with  no  danger, 
and  it  secures  to  rogues  of  the  right  sort  other  ad 
vantages  besides  deliverance  from  the  penalties  of 
crime.  It  is  good  policy  also  in  a  larger  view.  It 
keeps  up  a  show  of  justice  and  public  order,  and 
makes  a  great  many  pawns  on  the  political  chess 
board  more  contentedly  passive  in  the  hands  of  the 
players,  and  so  strengthens  our  incomparable  free 


166  DOCTOR     OLD HAM 

institutions.  The  ingenuities  of  the  process  fur 
nish,  moreover,  a  highly  pleasurahle  variety  of  ex 
citement  to  his  friends  and  followers — to  all  sport 
ing  men,  fancy  boys,  the  keepers  and  frequenters  of 
those  drinking  and  gambling  places  that  are  so  fitly 
termed  hells. 

"  By  all  means  then  let  the  murderer  be  deliv 
ered  in  due  course  of  law.  A  purse  shall  be  made 
up,  and  the  smartest  lawyers  retained.  Justice 
Sharpclaw  shall  send  the  man  to  prison.  He  un 
derstands  his  part.  Judge  Wrestright  shall  grant 
a  writ  of  habeas  corpus.  He  cannot  let  the  prisoner 
off  with  a  fine  of  one  dollar  ;  for  he  has  not  been 
contented  this  time  with  beating  his  victim  half 
dead  ;  nor  can  he  admit  him  to  bail  in  the  sum  of 
five  hundred  dollars,  although  Alderman  Poteen, 
keeper  of  the  gambling  house  in  the  Flash  ward, 
and  Alderman  O'Floggerty,  emigrant  runner,  both 
famous  for  election  fights,  knocking  down  policemen, 
and  the  like  exploits,  are  urgent  to  go  his  sureties. 
But  if  thought  best,  a  sharp  skirmish  of  writs  and 
counter-writs  shall  take  place,  and  during  the  in 
tervals  of  proceedings  the  police  in  charge  of  him 
shall,  on  the  intimation  of  the  Judge,  and  for  a 
due  consideration,  obligingly  accompany  him  to  his 
favorite  haunts,  and  permit  him  to  solace  himself 


AT    GREYSTONES,  167 

with  champagne,  brandy-smashers,  and  the  smiles 
of  the  fair  and  frail.  When  the  day  of  trial  conies, 
if  the  judges  should  forget  on  whom  they  depend 
for  re-election,  the  jury  shall  "be  found  a  safe  reli 
ance—that  shall  be  well  cared  for.  They  will  never 
agree  in  a  verdict  of  guilty ;  and  so  poor  Jonah's 
murderer  shall  come  safely  off — the  object  of  higher 
admiration  ever  after  to  his  band,  as  the  boy  that 
settled  that  prating  old  prophet  who  was  disturbing 
the  city  ! " 

"  0  husband,  how  you  run  on,"  said  Mrs.  Old- 
ham.  "  You  take  as  much  delight  in  wilful  hyper 
bole  as  your  quondam  friend  Sidney  Smith.  But  I 
know  what  abatement  to  make." 

"  Make  none  in  this  case,  my  dear,"  replied  the 
Doctor.  "  This  is  not  the  rollicking  humor  of  ex 
aggeration.  My  fiction  falls  short  of  facts.  The 
records  of  the  last  three  years  more  than  bear  me 
out.  No,  Mrs.  Oldham,  there  is  no  salvation  for 
your  native  town  while  universal  suffrage  and  an 
elective  judiciary  prevail  there." 

"  I  am  glad  Professor  Clare  is  not  here  to  hear 
you  say  that,"  said  Mrs.  Oldham. 

"  Professor  Clare,  my  dear,  has  a  great  deal 
more  softness  of  heart  than  clearness  of  head,  and 
however  shocked  he  might  be  at  my  opinions,  you 


168  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

wouldn't  need  feel  any  alarm  for  my  safety,  if  he 
were  here — which  is  more  than  I  can  assure  you  of, 
if  I  were  to  go  down  and  proclaim  my  thoughts 
freely  about  the  streets,  in  the  primary  meetings, 
and  at  the  polls  of  your  native  town.  Be  comforted, 
however  :  I  shall  not  do  so.  I  shall  take  warning 

o 

from  Jonah's  fate/' 

"But,  husband,  Professor  Clare  says  it  is  all 
along  of  your  English  prejudices,  the  way  you  dis 
parage  free  institutions." 

"  Professor  Clare,  my  good  little  wife,  is  our 
neighbor,  a  worthy  and  kind-hearted  man,  for  whom 
I  entertain  a  very  friendly  regard,  which  nothing 
that  he  is  ever  likely  to  do  or  say  will  diminish. 
But  Professor  Clare  is  Professor  Clare.  He  is  an 
excellent  Greek  scholar,  but  he  is  not  an  historical 
philosopher,  nor  a  philosophical  statesman  ;  nor  is 
he,  so  far  as  I  have  observed,  a  person  who  does  his 
own  thinking.  His  opinions  on  the  most  important 
subjects  were  adopted,  not  formed,  and  are  of  the 
sort  most  current  in  the  circle  of  those  with  whom 
he  lived  at  the  time  when  men  like  him  lay  in  their 
stock  of  opinions.  Consequently  he  is  a  firm  be 
liever  in  democratic  institutions,  in  the  divine  right 
of  a  free  and  enlightened  people  to  recognize  no 
higher  law  than  their  own  will,  and  in  the  glorious 


AT    GREYSTONES.  169 

future  of  our  great  republic,  its  '  manifest  destiny ' 
to  overrun  and  annex  every  thing  that  borders  on 
it. 

"  But  Professor  Clare  is  mistaken  in  regard  to 
my  English  prejudices,  as  you  could  have  informed 
him." 

"  I  did  so/'  said  Mrs.  Oldham.  "  I  told  him 
that  notwithstanding  your  English  education,  your 
prepossessions  and  prejudices  were  all  in  favor  of 
our  institutions  when  you  came  back  ;  and  I  told 
him,  too,"  she  added,  with  a  gentle  kindling  of  her 
placid  eye,  and  a  little  flush  slightly  heightening 
the  early-autumn  peach  bloom  on  her  cheek,  "  that 
however  sorry  you  were  to  see  any  thing  going  on 
in  a  wrong  way,  your  love  for  your  native  country 
is  as  true  and  as  warm  as  ever  beat  in  any  man's 
breast — and  it  was  that  very  love  which  made  you 
so  quick  to  feel  whatever  might  bring  disgrace  or 
danger  to  us." 

"  Bravo  !  little  woman,"  said  the  Doctor,  with 
a  smile. 

'  Lives  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead,' 

"  or  woman  either,  the  poet  might  have  said,  only 
it  was  needless — all  women  becoming  men  in  cer 
tain  poetical  cases,  just  as  they  all  become  (  dearly 


170  DOCTOK    OLDHAM 

beloved  brethren/  in  the  Prayer  Book  ;  although  I 
confess  I  always  felt  a  little  awkward  in  addressing 
them  so,  when  they  were  the  only  brethren  at 
church — not  an  uncommon  case  at  Wednesday 
and  Friday  prayers.  But  where  am  I  wander 
ing  ?  Oh,  I  was  going  to  say  you  are  right,  my 
little,  best  friend  ;  I  arn  wedded  to  my  country  as  I 
am  to  you,  '  for  better  for  worse/  and  my  heart  is 
faithful  to  my  vows  ;  although  it  is  proper  for  me 
to  add  that  I  have  found  it  all  better  and  no  worse, 
as  regards  you,  Mrs.  Oldham. 

"  I  do  not  disparage  free  institutions — by  which 
Professor  Clare  means  our  own  institutions,  for  he 
has  no  notion  that  there  are  any  other  free  ones 
than  ours  ; — I  only  fear  there  is  not  virtue  enough 
among  us  to  make  universal  suffrage  and  an  elec 
tive  judiciary  safe.  I  arn  sure  they  will 'not  do  for 
our  great  cities." 

"  Well,  husband,  I  am  very  sorry  you  cannot 
be  more  hopeful  for  my  native  city." 

"  So  am  I.  I  like  to  hope  for  what  I  greatly 
wish  for,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  and  still  more  for 
what  you  wish  for  ;  but  my  eyes  and  my  reason 
will  not  always  let  me  do  as  I  like." 

"  But  there  are  a  great  many  good  and  excel 
lent  persons  there — that  is  one  comfort." 


AT     GBEYSTOKES.  171 

"  True,  my  dear,  you  and  I  know  a  great  many, 
and  there  are  a  great  many  more  that  we  don't 
know — enough,  as  you  see,  to  save  it  thus  far  :  and 
unless  they  move  out  of  it,  as  you  and  I  have  done, 
it  may  stand  for  some  time  yet.  But  it  may  be  a 
real  Sodom,  for  all  that  ;  growing  wickeder  every 
day,  and  as  sure  to  be  destroyed,  sooner  or  later,  as 
Old  Sodom  was — although  not  in  the  same  fashion 
perhaps  ;  for  the  Almighty  does  not  seem,  since 
then,  to  have  taken  that  method  of  destroying 
wicked  cities — unless  the  fate  of  those  two  Koman 
towns  that  were  overwhelmed  by  the  burning  lava 
of  Vesuvius  be  set  down  as  examples  of  the  same 
sort.  They  are  mostly  left  to  work  out  their  own 
destruction,  after  a  certain  Kilkenny-cat  fashion  ; 
except  when  some  strong-handed  fellow  comes  in 
and  puts  a  stop  to  the  process  by  grape-shot,  like 
him  of  the  Eighteenth  of  Brumaire  in  Paris — which 
sort  of  salvation  cannot  so  well  be  hoped  for  in  the 
case  of  New  Sodom,  owing  to  the  peculiar  consti 
tution  of  the  State  and  General  Government  of  the 
country. 

"  Doubtless,  as  you  say,  there  are  a  great  many 
good  people  there.  But  how  much  good  does  their 
goodness  do  ?  Does  it  control  the  city  govern 
ment  ?  Does  it  turn  the  scale  at  elections  ?  Does 


172  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

it  put  good  men  into  office  ?     Does  it  stop  the  pro 
gress  of  corruption  ? 

"  What  does  it  do  even  to  reclaim  and  convert 
the  vicious  and  dangerous  classes  ? 

"  It  goes  to  church  itself — it  fills  up  a  great 
many  comfortable,  a  great  many  magnificent  church 
es  every  Sunday.  But  how  many  places  of  Chris 
tian  worship,  of  the  humblest  sort,  does  it  provide 
for  the  poor  and  sinful  in  the  quarters  where  the 
rulers  of  the  city  mostly  live  ?  It  gives  ample  in 
comes — a  fine  house,  and  five,  six,  or  seven  thou 
sand  dollars  a  year — to  its  own  favorite  preachers  ; 
but  how  many  preachers  does  it  maintain  whom 
one  thousand  dollars  a  year  would  enable  with  glad 
ness  to  carry  the  Gospel,  and  their  own  warm  hearts 
with  it,  down  into  the  damp  cellars,  and  up  under 
sharp-roofed  garrets,  to  thousands  who  otherwise 
would  never  hear  its  voice  ? 

"  I  speak  not  merely  of  the  Pharisees — the 
highest  class  of  professors  of  godliness — the  long- 
garmented  and  broad-phylacteried,  who,  with  their 
wives  and  children,  fill  up  the  sumptuous  churches 
in  the  fashionable  streets  and  squares,  and  thank 
God  they  are  not  like  the  publicans  and  sinners— - 
which  is  all  they  care  for  them.  It  is  not  of  such 
that  I  speak.  There  are  a  great  many  truly  good, 


AT     GEEYSTONES.  173 

loving  and  gentle-hearted  persons,  who  are  really 
sorry  there  should  be  any  wickedness  or  unhappi- 
ness  in  the  world,  and  desirous  to  do  all  they  can 
to  make  everybody  as  well  off  and  as  good  as  them 
selves — who  yet  make  a  very  mistaken  use  of  their 
goodness  ;  partly  because  they  are  more  afraid  than 
our  Lord  was  of  coming  into  contact  with  poor  sin 
ners — which  they  need  not  be  if  their  love  was  as 
great  as  his, — and  partly  because  they  have  been 
wrongly  guided,  and  so  are  very  earnest  in  works 
of  love  for  the  Feejee  Island  heathen,  and  overlook 
the  Manhattan  Island  heathen  in  the  midst  of  them 
— are  very  liberal  of  their  money  to  build  churches 
in  the  new  western  States,  and  to  send  missionaries 
to  China,  while  they  forget  that  there  are  large  dis 
tricts  of  their  own  city — the  abodes  of  filth  and 
vice — where  churches  and  missionaries  are  at  least 
as  much  needed,  and  which  it  should,  at  all  events, 
be  their  first  care  to  supply." 

"  But,  husband,  there  are  a  great  many  persons 
of  wealth  and  influence  there  now  fully  awake  to 
this  need." 

"  Let  them  go  earnestly  to  work,  then,"  said  the 
Doctor,  "if  they  would  save  the  city.  It  is  in  a 
bad  way  now,  and  universal  suffrage  and  a  judiciary 
elected  at  short  intervals  only  make  things  worse. 


1*74  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

Why,  suppose  the  Good  Lord  were  to  nominate 
Gabriel  for  Mayor,  and  a  choice  list  of  other  good 
angels  for  Aldermen,  Common  Councilmen,  and 
Judges,  and  promise  the  people  a  good  city  govern 
ment  without  a  penny's  cost ;  do  you  think  the 
ticket  would  be  elected  ?  " 

"  Dear  me,  husband,  what  a  case  to  put  !  But 
can  you  doubt  it  would  be  ?  " 

"  I  hope  it  would,  my  dear,  but  depend  upon  it 
there  would  be  an  opposition  ticket." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  cried  Phil,  "  imagine  the  placards 
headed,  '  PURE  DEMOCRATIC  TICKET  ;  *  and  the  in 
scriptions  on  the  street  banners  :  '  No  Theocracy  ;  ' 
'  No  Church  and  State  ;  '  i  A  Human  Government 
for  Human  Beings  ;  '  and  the  speeches  made  in  the 
Ward  meetings  on  these  watchwords  and  the  foul 
language  heaped  upon  Gabriel  and  the  other  good 
angels  in  the  drinking-shops." 

"Stop,  Phil,"  said  Mrs.  Oldham,  "that  is 
shocking  ;  you  are  worse  than  your  father." 

"  I  think  we've  had  enough,"  said  the  Doctor. 
"  Only  this  I  will  say,  that  unless  the  goodness  that 
is  in  the  city  can  get  control  of  the  city  govern 
ment  and  put  good  men  into  office,  it  will  no  more 
avail  to  its  salvation,  than  Lot's  righteousness  did 
to  Old  Sodom's.  The  good  people  will  be  got  out 


AT     GKEYSTONES.  175 

of  it  in  some  way — led  out  by  their  good  angels, 
like  our  agreeable  neighbors,  the  Pelharns,  who 
have  just  come  up  here  to  our  great  delight,  or 
driven  out  by  the  violence  of  the  wicked,  and  the 
city  will  inevitably  go  down  to  chaos,  destruction, 
and  the  devil." 


1 76  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 


CHAPlEE   XVII. 

A    SHORT    CHAPTER    ON   JUDGE-MAKING NOT    AMUSING;    AND    NOT    SO 

LIKELY  TO  BE  INTERESTING  TO  THOSE  WHO  NEED,  AS  TO  THOSE  WHO 
DO  NOT  NEED,  THE  INSTRUCTION  IT  CONTAINS. 

"  You  are  in  favor,  then,  of  our  present  way  of 
making  judges  by  universal-suffrage  ballot-box  elec 
tions  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 

The  subject  came  up  between  him  and  Pro 
fessor  Clare,  a  few  days  after  the  talk  recorded  in 
the  last  chapter. 

The  Professor  said  he  was. 

"  You  go  also  for  a  limited  term  of  office — for 
frequent  elections  at  short  intervals,  instead  of  the 
old  tenure  ?_" 

The  Professor  approved  of  that  too.  It  was— 
he  thought — in  accordance  with  the  genius  of  our 
institutions.  That  is  a  phrase  he  is  greatly  pleased 
with,  and  one  he  often  uses.  If  any  thing  falls — 
or  seems  to  him  to  fall — within  its  application,  that 


AT    GREY  STONES.  177 

of  itself  is  enough  to  commend  it  to  his  judgment 
and  approval. 

"  Genius  of  our  institutions  !  "  replied  the  Doc 
tor  ;  "  will  that  make  a  foolish  thing  a  wise  one,  or 
console  us  for  its  working  badly  ?  Don't  you  see 
it  is  against  all  human  nature  that  such  a  tenure 
of  judicial  office  should  work  well  ?  " 

The  Professor  confessed  he  did  not  see  it. 

"  Well/'  continued  the  Doctor,  "  there  was  a 
time  in  England  when  all  the  judges  were  not  only 
appointed  by  the  crown,  but  held  their  office  at  the 
mere  good  pleasure  of  the  king,  who  could  at  any 
moment  remove  them  by  his  absolute  will.  But  in 
the  time  of  WILLIAM  the  THIRD  it  became  an  es 
tablished  part  of  the  British  Constitution,  that 
they  should  hold  office  during  good  behavior — 
though  in  practice  their  commissions  were  consid 
ered  as  vacated  upon  a  demise  of  the  crown  as  late 
as  the  reign  of  George  the  Third,  when,  at  the  ear 
nest  recommendation  of  that  sovereign,  this  cause 
of  vacancy  was  done  away  with,  and  the  tenure  of 
judicial  office  was  made  perfect  during  good  be 
havior,  with  an  ample  and  dignified  official  salary 
absolutely  secured.  You  think  this  an  improve 
ment  on  the  old  way,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  0  yes,  it  was  a  great  triumph  for  British  lib- 


178  DOCTOR     OLD  II  AM 

erties,  a  noble  security  for  the  rights  of  the  peo 
ple." 

"How  so?" 

"  Because  it  made  the  judges  independent  of 
the  crown/'  replied  the  Professor. 

"  But  wherein  lies  the  worth  and  importance 
of  that  independence  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 

"  Why/'  said  the  Professor,  "  it  freed  the  judges 
from  temptations  to  pervert  the  course  of  justice, 
in  order  to  suit  the  royal  pleasure,  and  afforded  the 
best  guaranties  for  the  upright  and  impartial  ad 
ministration  of  the  laws." 

"  True;"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  and  yet  you  don't 
see  that  the  same  principles  in  human  nature  re 
quire  that  the  judges  should  be  equally  independ 
ent  of  the  popular  as  of  the  royal  will  ?  " 

The  Professor  looked  puzzled,  as  if  taken  a  lit 
tle  aback. 

"  Are  judges,"  added  the  Doctor,  "  any  more 
likely  to  be  upright  and  impartial  when  they  de 
pend  for  continuance  in  office  upon  the  will  of  the 
people,  than  when  they  depend  upon  the  good 
pleasure  of  a  king  ?  " 

The  Professor's  face  cleared  up.  He  was  sure 
— lie  said— they  were. 

"  Well/'  replied  the  Doctor,  "  that  is  a  mere 


AT     GREYSTQNES.  179 

question  of  comparison  and  degree  not  worth  de 
ciding  :  for  even  if  it  be  as  you  say — though  I 
don't  believe  it — would  that  at  all  impair  the  truth 
of  the  general  principle  which  makes  the  independ 
ence  of  the  judiciary  of  the  highest  importance  to 
the  impartial  administration  of  the  laws  ?  The 
true  question  is  :  whether  it  is  not  best  for  the  pu 
rity  and  integrity  of  the  judges  that  they  should  be 
freed  from  all  dependence  upon  the  mere  arbitrary 
pleasure  of  any  body,  whether  of  a  single  or  a  mul 
titudinous  sovereign,  and  so  freed  from  all  tempta 
tions  and  respects  of  fear  or  favor  ?  " 

The  Professor  made  no  reply. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  continued  the  Doctor,  "  don't 
talk  any  more  about  the  genius  of  our  institutions, 
as  if  that  was  necessarily  conclusive  of  any  thing. 
What  is  the  use  of  being  duped  by  phrases  ? 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  human  nature  in  man. 
What  matters  a  fine  theory  if  it  is  not  adapted  to 
human  nature  under  its  actual  conditions  ? 

"  Besides,  the  way  of  making  judges  you  ap 
prove  of  is  not — rightly  considered — fine  in  theory  : 
it  violates  a  great  principle  lying  at  the  bottom  of 
the  matter — a  principle  the  bulk  of  the  people  have 
no  perception  of,  and  which  you  and  thousands  of 
others  like  you,  who  ought  to  be  more  clear-headed, 
do  not  seem  to  see." 


180  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  the  sovereign  should  never  sit  on 
the  bench  itself.  It  is  essentially  tyrannical,  in 
compatible  with  any  proper  security  for  righteous 
judgment.  I  suppose  you  see  that -it  must  be  so 
in  an  absolute  monarchy,  where  the  sovereign  power 
is  vested  in  a  single  person  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  the  Professor  said,  "  that  is  very  clear.'' 

"  It  has  always  been  so  held,"  said  the  Doctor, 
"  by  the  wise  in  all  modern  times,  even  under  the 
most  absolute  governments  of  Europe  ;  and  neither 
Louis  the  Fourteenth,  nor  Frederick  the  Great,  ever 
dared  face  their  people  with  a  denial  of  the  princi 
ple,  however  they  may  in  any  case  have  overborne 
it  in  practice. 

"  Yet  you  are  in  favor  of  a  way  of  making 
judges  which  virtually  puts  not  even  the  sovereign 
— bad  in  principle  as  that  is — but  a  majority  on  the 
bench.  But  there  is  always  tyranny,  always  dan 
ger  to  justice,  where  the  holder  of  the  supreme 
power — be  it  Louis  the  Fourteenth  or  the  majority 

either  sits  in  judgment  or  controls  or  influences 

it  in  the  courts. 

"  I  do  not  approve  of  the  judges  being  elected 
by  the  people  :  but  I  do  not  think  the  mode  of 
their  appointment  matters  so  much,  provided  they 


AT     GREYSTONES.  181 

hold  during  good  behavior.  But  to  make  their  con 
tinuance  in  office  dependent  at  short  intervals  upon 
a  popular  vote,  is  bad  in  principle,  and  so  it  cannot 
but  work  badly — especially  in  our  great  cities,  like 
the  one  down  below. 

"  Think  of  it  :  judges  elected  every  little  while 
—on  the  same  ticket  perhaps  with  political  officers 
— at  any  rate  the  nominations  always  controlled  by 
party  managers — the  balance  of  power  in  the  hands 
of  that  sort  of  human  nature  which  is  always  to  be 
found  in  such  large  proportions  in  great  cities,  and 
which  is  always  likely  to  be  most  prominent  and 
powerful  in  politics  and  elections,  at  primary  meet 
ings  and  at  the  polls  ; — gracious  heavens  !  What 
must  not  the  administration  of  justice  in  time  come 
to  ?  What  has  it  not  come  to  now  ?  Where  is 
that  certainty  of  punishment  following  crime  which 
the  wisdom  of  criminal  jurisprudence  and  the  good 
of  society  demands  ?  There  is  almost  nothing  of 
it  left.  It  is  scarcely  possible  to  bring  a  criminal 
who  has  money  or  political  influence  within  the 
compass  of  the  penalties  of  the  law. 

"  I  do  not  say  that  all  the  evils  in  the  working  of 
our  judicial  system  come  merely  from  the  bad  ten 
ure  of  office  of  the  judges.  Some  of  them  come 
from,  and  all  of  them  are  aggravated  by,  the  un- 


182  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

wise  multiplication  of  judges  and  courts.  Hence 
you  see  court  interfering  with  court,  and  judge  with 
judge — a  perfect  war  of  writs  and  counter-writs  ; 
and  what  with  the  practical  working  of  the  law 
on  jury-forming  and  on  admissible  evidence,  the 
administration  of  justice  is  well-nigh  reduced  to  a 
game  of  legal  thimble-rigging  between  sharp  law 
yers.  It  is  almost  a  bounty  on  crime,  a  proclama 
tion  of  immunity  to  the  criminal. 

"  No,  sir,  our  way  of  making  judges  does  not 
work  well ;  it  will  go  on  to  work  worse  and  worse  ; 
and  justice  will  never  have  free  course  until  the 
people  become  wise  enough  to  put  good  and  fit  men 
upon  the  bench  without  regard  to  party  politics, 
and  to  make  them  independent  of  the  popular  favor 
for  their  continuance  there. 

"  Of  which  there  is  small  hope." 


AT     GKEYSTONES.  183 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

SOMETHING  ON  UNIVERSAL  SUFFRAGE  AND  SACRED  RIGHTS — WHEREIN 
IS  SEEN  UOAT  PROFESSOR  CLARE  AND  PELHAM  BRIEF  DIFFER  FROM 
EACH  OTHER,  AND  THE  DOCTOR  FROM  THEM  BOTH. 

"  How  many  persons  among  us,"  said  the  Doc 
tor,  after  a  pause,  "  talk  as  if  all  rights  were  sa 
cred — almost  the  only  sacred  things  in  the  universe, 
and  political  rights  the  most  sacred,  and  the  exer 
cise  of  them  the  chief  end  of  man. 

"  There's  my  friend  Pelham  Brief — I  tried  the 
other  day  to  make  him  comprehend  the  difference 
between  a  right  resting  merely  in  prescription,  and 
a  right  grounded  in  natural  justice/' 

"  Yet  Brief  is  a  man  of  genius/'  said  Professor 
Clare. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  Brief  is  a  man  of 
genius — in  his  way.  He  has  a  truly  creative  imag 
ination  j  and  he  has  withal  a  fancy  so  rich  and 
bright,  a  taste  so  pure  and  delicate,  and  so  exquisite 


184  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

a  faculty  of  expression,  that  I  reckon  him  one  of 
our  most  charming  writers.  But  there  are  a  good 
many  sorts  of  genius.  Plato  was  a  man  of  ge 
nius.  Brief  has  not  the  same  sort  of  genius  Plato 
had,  any  more  than  he  probably  has  the  genius  of 
Csesar,  or  Kichelieu,  or  George  Stephenson.  He  is 
a  man  of  genius  in  the  poetic  sphere,  in  the  world  of 
fine  letters  ;  but  not  in  the  world  of  thought.  He 
has  no  eminent  faculty  for  science,  analysis,  logical 
connection,  theoretic  insight,  or  higher  speculation. 
He  doesn't  seize  at  a  glance  the  principles  that  un 
derlie  and  connect  political  doctrines,  and  deter 
mine  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  theories  on  human 
rights.  He  cannot  see  but  the  right  of  suffrage — 
because  it  is  called  a  right — must  of  necessity  be  a 
sacred  right,  belonging  therefore  to  every  human 
being,  as  much  as  the  right  of  life  and  liberty,  and 
consequently  to  deprive  any  person  of  it,  unless  it 
be  forfeited  by  crime,  is  a  moral  wrong,  or,  as  the 
political  orators  say,  an  atrocious  violation  of  the 
sacred  principles  of  eternal  justice." 

"  But  I  agree  with  Brief,"  said  Professor  Clare. 
"  I  go  for  universal  suffrage/' 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  universal  ?  " 

"  Why,  all  the  people  voting,  of  course." 

"  Negroes  ?  " 


AT     GKEYSTONES.  185 

"  Hem — no,  I  did  not  mean  them/' 

"  Women  ?  " 

"  No—I  don't  go  for  that." 

"  Ah,  by  universal  then  you  mean  all  the  white 
men  !  A  droll  idea  of  universal  !  And  a  still 
droller  idea  of  a  sacred  right — one  which  the  larg 
est  number  of  full-grown  persons  in  the  State  may 
be — and  probably  are — excluded  from  !  But  why 
should  not  negroes  and  women  vote  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  would  not  do/'  the  Professor  said. 

"  But  -they  are  human  persons,"  insisted  the 
Doctor,  "  and  as  virtuous  and  intelligent,  and  as 
capable  of  voting  uprightly  and  wisely,  as  the  great 
mass  of  the  voters  in  general,  and  of  our  Irish  and 
German  citizens  in  particular." 

"  But  it  would  not  work  well,"  replied  the  Pro 
fessor. 

"  But  who  is  to  decide  that  question  ?  "  said 
the.  Doctor. 

"  The  majority  of  the  people,  of  course,"  was 
the  Professor's  answer. 

"  The  majority  of  male  white  people,  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  don't  you  see,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  if  you 
allow  the  majority  may  justly  make  one  restriction 


186  DOCTOR     OLD  HAM 

to-day,  they  may  make  another  to-morrow — may 
exclude,  for  instance,  all  but  native-born  citizens, 
or  all  who  are  not  freeholders,  or  all  such  gray- 
haired  old  fellows  as  I  am  ; — in  short,  don't  you 
see  your  boasted  right  of  universal  suffrage  resolves 
itself  at  last  into  the  right  of  a  majority — it  may 
be  a  majority  of  one — to  deprive  everybody  else  of 
a  right  you  set  out  with  assuming  to  be  sacred,  and 
claiming  should  on  that  account  be  universal  ? 

"  Besides  :  consider  how  droll  it  is  to  call  that 
a  sacred  right  which  you  yet  make  depend  for  its 
rightful  existence  on  the  opinion  of  a  majority  as 
to  the  expediency  of  allowing  it.  Is  that  the  ten 
ure  by  which  you  and  I  hold  our  right  to  live  and 
to  dispose  of  ourselves  ?  Should  we  not  say  to  any 
majority  that  proposed  to  grant  us  the  right  to  life 
and  to  self-ownership  :  Thank  you  for  nothing  ; — 
our  right  to  these  things  is  anterior  to  your  grant 
and  independent  of  it — something  you  can  indeed 
recognize,  something  you  are  bound  to  protect,  and 
which,  within  the  limits  of  justice  and  for  good 
ends,  you  may  regulate  the  exercise  of,  but  which 
you  cannot  give,  nor  (unless  forfeited  by  crime) 
take  away,  except  by  unjust  force  ?  Does  it  not 
seem  to  you  to  be  thus  in  respect  to  life  and  liber 
ty  ?  " 


AT     GREYS  TONES.  187 

The  Professor  said  surely  it  did  seem  to  him  to 
be  SO;  and  impossible  it  should  be  otherwise. 

"  You  cannot,  then/'  continued  the  Doctor, 
"  conceive  that  any  notion  of  convenience  or  ad 
vantage  to  the  State,  nor  even  any  persuasion  of 
State  necessity — however  honest  and  strong — would 
make  it  right  for  the  majority  to  put  you  and  mo 
to  death,  or  shut  us  up  in  prison,  without  any  fault 
or  crime  on  our  part  ?  " 

"  No,  certainly,  I  cannot/' 

"  Well,  if  it  holds  thus  in  regard  to  life  and 
liberty,  must  it  not  hold  thus  in  regard  to  the  right 
of  suffrage  also,  if  it  be  equally  a  sacred  right  ? 
Must  it  not  be  equally  independent  of  the  grant  of 
a  majority  ?  Must  it  not  be  a  right  that  no  inno 
cent  person,  capable  of  exercising  it,  can  be  right 
fully  deprived  of  at  the  mere  will  of  any  majority, 
however  large  ?  Must  it  not  be  one  which,  though 
it  may  be  forced  to  succumb  to  the  immoral  law  of 
the  strongest,  yet  will — even  while  the  foot  of  vio 
lence  is  crushing  it — proclaim  itself  inviolable  ?  " 

"  My  dear  sir,"  continued  the  Doctor,  "  it  will 
not  do  for  you  to  talk  of  universal  suffrage,  when 
you  mean  only  male  whites, — nor  to  talk  of  it  as  a 
sacred  right,  while  you  go  for  excluding  all  but 
them. 


188  D  0  C  T  O  E     O  L  D  H  A  M 

"  But  Brief  is  in  a  different  position  from  you 
—and  in  degree  much  more  consistent.  He  insists 
that  all  men — colored  as  well  as  white,  and  all  wo 
men,  too — white,  black,  and  of  every  other  hue — 
shall  have  the  right  to  vote." 

"But  Brief  is  an  Abolitionist  and  Woman's 
Eights  man,"  said  the  Professor. 

"  Ah,  and  you  are  only  a  Democrat  !  "  replied 
the  Doctor.  "  But  Brief  says  it  is  absurd  for  you 
to  talk  about  democracy  and  equal  rights,  and  that 
your  pretence  of  being  in  favor  of  universal  suffrage 
is  a  disreputable  sham.  He  denies  that  sex  or  color 
are  a  righteous  ground  for  depriving  persons  of  their 
rights  as  human  beings.  And  I  perfectly  agree 
with  him." 

"  But  surely,"  said  the  Professor,  "  you  are  not 
in  favor  of  negroes  and  women  being  allowed  to 
vote  ?  " 

"  ISTo,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  not  at  all.  But  I 
agree  with  Brief,  that  negroes  and  women  should 
not,  because  of  their  color  or  sex,  be  deprived  of 
any  of  their  rights  as  human  beings,  which  they 
are  competent  to  exercise  ;  and  I  don't  think  their 
color  or  sex  produces  or  betokens  any  such  incapa 
city  as  ought — out  of  regard  to  their  welfare  or  the 
public  good — to  exclude  them. 


AT     GEEYSTONES.  189 

"  But  then  I  differ  from  Brief  about  the  nature 
of  the  right  of  suffrage.  I  hold  ifc  to  be  not  a 
natural,  but  a  civil  right  ;  not  sacred,  but  merely 
prescriptive — one  that  rests  in  a  grant  from  society, 
from  the  State — one  that  the  people,  the  majority, 
may  rightfully  confer  or  withhold,  extend,  limit, 
and  regulate  at  their  pleasure. — not  indeed  in  a 
merely  capricious,  unreasonable  way,  but  as  they 
shall  truly  judge  best  adapted  to  promote  the  great 
ends  for  which  the  State  exists,  for  which  govern 
ments  exist — the  maintenance  of  social  justice  and 
human  welfare. 

"  The  whole  question  of  suffrage,  therefore — its 
right  and  extent — is  a  question  of  expediency, 
what,  namely,  is  best  for  the  commonwealth.  And 
I  don't  believe  universal  suffrage  is  best — neither 
in  Brief's  large  sense  of  the  word,  nor  in  your  nar 
rower  and  improper  use  of  it.  I  am  sure  the  good 
of  society  requires  all  women  should  be  excluded 
from  voting  j  and  as  to  men — though  I  would  not 
exclude  any  one  merely  on  account  of  his  color,  yet 
I  would,  as  far  as  possible,  make  the  qualifications 
of  voters  such  as  to  include  only  those  it  would  be 
best,  for  the  good  of  the  whole,  to  intrust  with 
such  a  right — a  right  which  (though  not  sacred  in 
itself,)  yet  where  granted  involves  duties  that  are 


190  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

sacred,  and  upon  the  wise  and  virtuous  discharge 
of  which  the  welfare  of  the  nation  depends." 

"  But  how  did  you  manage  with  Brief  ?  "  in 
quired  the  Professor. 

"I  asked  him  if  he  went  for  children  having 
the  right  of  suffrage,  as  well  as  as  all  grown-up 
persons  of  both  sexes. 

"  He  said  no,  he  did  not  contend  for  that. 

"  I  told  him  I  wondered  he  did  not.  You  go, 
said  I,  upon  the  principle  that  the  State  cannot, 
for  any  ends  of  its  own,  justly  deprive  any  person 
of  a  right  belonging  to  human  persons  as  such  ? 

"  He  said  yes,  he  did. 

"  '  There  is  my  daughter,  Lilly,  for  instance/  I 
continued  ;  c  she  has  done  nothing  against  the  laws  ; 
you  would  say  the  State  has  no  more  just  right  to 
put  her  to  death  or  to  make  her  work  in  a  tread-mill 
— for  any  advantage  to  itself — than  to  do  the  same  to 
me,  or  any  other  full-grown  person  innocent  of  crime  V 

"  '  True/  replied  Brief,  '  but  the  State  gives  you 
a  right  to  control  your  daughter,  and  you,  I  pre 
sume,  have  no  doubt  but  you  may  rightfully  re 
strain  her  freedom/ 

"  i  Unquestionably/  I  said,  '  I  have  a  certain 
right  over  her,  not  to  be  capriciously  exercised,  nor 
for  my  own  own  ends  merely,  but  reasonably,  within 


AT     GREYSTONES.  191 

certain  limits,  in  order  that  I  may  discharge  my 
duty  as  a  parent,  and  for  the  child's  own  good  ;  on 
the  ground  that  her  personality  is  imperfect,  not 
yet  so  completely  unfolded  as  that  she  can  be  safely 
left  entirely  to  her  own  guidance.  This  right  the 
State  does  not  give  me,  but  recognizes,  and  to  a 
certain  extent  sustains  ;  and  on  the  same  ground 
the  State  assumes  the  right,  because  it  is  its  duty, 
to  control,  directly  or  indirectly,  all  imperfect  per 
sons  of  mature  age,  the  imbecile  or  insane. 

' ' ;  But  your  suggestion  has  no  force  to  establish 
your  consistency,  or  to  stop  my  argument.  Dis- 
tinguemus  distinguenda — let  us  make  all  just  dis 
tinctions.  To  regulate  the  exercise  of  a  sacred 
right  is  a  very  different  thing  from  prohibiting  it 
altogether  ;  to  restrain  or  limit  it,  for  the  good  of 
those  who  are  not  mature  persons  enough  to  be  ca 
pable  of  exercising  it  safely  for  themselves  or  for 
others,  is  one  thing  ;  to  take  it  entirely  away,  for 
mere  State  ends,  from  those  who  are  capable  of  ex 
ercising  it,  is  another  and  quite  different  thing.  I 
may  admit  the  justice  of  the  one,  without  admit 
ting  the  justice  of  the  other/ 

"  '  But  in  excluding  children  from  voting/  said 
Brief,  c  we  go  upon  the  ground  that  they  are  not  ca 
pable,  like  full-grown  persons,  of  exercising  the 
right/ 


192  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

"  (  Then  I  deny  the  matter  of  fact  alleged/  said 
I.  f  There  is  my  boy  Phil,  twenty  years  old,  he  is 
just  as  competent  as  nine-tenths  of  the  legal  voters 
in  the  land  ;  and  there  are  thousands  of  the  same 
age  equally  competent/ 

"  Brief  admitted  it  was  so,  and  thought  it 
would  be  a  just  and  good  thing  if  twenty,  or  even 
eighteen,  were  made  the  legal  age  for  voting. 

"  '  But  how  are  you  going  to  stop  there  ?  '  said 
I.  '  There  is  Lilly,  she  is  only  fourteen  ;  and  there 
is  Fred,  he  is  twelve  ;  yet  you  know,  and  I  know, 
and  everybody  that  knows  them  knows,  that  they 
are  just  as  able  to  drop  a  ballot  into  the  box  as  I 
am  ;  as  likely  to  do  it  out  of  an  honest  love  for  the 
commonwealth  as  most  persons  ;  and  far  more  ca 
pable  of  doing  it  with  a  wise  and  intelligent  judg 
ment  than  multitudes  who  cast  their  votes  ;  and 
there  are  tens  of  thousands  of  children  equally  as 
competent  as  they  are/ 

"  '  But/  said  Brief,  ( not  all  children  are  compe 
tent  ;  so  we  have  to  draw  a  line  and  assume  the 
fitness  of  those  on  one  side,  and  the  unfitness  of 
those  on  the  other/ 

"  c  And  assume  what  is  not  true/  said  I.  ( Is  it 
not  an  established  principle  of  justice,  that  the 
State  shall  not  interfere?  with  the  sacred  rights  of 


AT     GKEYSTONES.  193 

persons  except  for  good  cause,  established  in  each 
individual  case  ? ' 

"  c  But  we  must  have  some  practical  rule  in  re 
gard  to  suffrage/  said  Brief. 

"  '  And  you  can  have  no  general  rule/  said  I, 
'  that  will  not  either  include  some  that  are  incom 
petent,  and  therefore,  on  your  ground,  have  not  the 
right,  or  exclude  some  that  are  competent,  and 
therefore  have  the  right  to  vote. 

"  '  Don't  you  see,  therefore,  that  you  cannot  get 
along  on  your  ground  ?  The  only  consistent  con 
clusion  is  that  suffrage  is  not  a  sacred  right,  but 
one  that  the  State  may,  for  its  own  ends,  that  is, 
for  the  good  of  the  commonwealth,  grant  or  deny, 
extend  or  limit,  as  it  may  judge  best.  It  may, 
without  injustice,  establish  a  practical  rule,  al 
though  it  should  include  some  that  are  incompetent 
to  vote,  and  exclude  some  that  are  competent. 
State  machinery,  like  all  o^her,  is  liable  to  fall  short 
of  theoretical  perfection  in  its  practical  working. 
The  ideally  perfect  can  never  be  actually  reached. 
All  the  State  has  to  do  is  to  do  as  well  as  it  can. 
If  it  is  practically  best  for  the  commonwealth  to 
exclude  from  the  exercise  of  suffrage,  women  and 
children,  and  negroes  and  foreigners,  and  one-half 
of  the  grown-up  native-born  white  men,  too,  then 
9 


194  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

it  is  right  to  do  it,  and  the  State,  the  people,  if 
wise,  should  and  will  do  it.  And  this  is  all  there 
is  to  be  said  on  the  question  of  right  in  the  mat 
ter/  " 


AT    GREYSTONES,  195 


CHAPTER   XIX. 


HARD  AND  DRY,  PERHAPS — BUT  GOING  TO  THE  BOTTOM  OP  A  SUBJECT 
IMMENSELY  IMPORTANT  TO  BE  UNDERSTOOD  IN  THIS  COUNTRY. 


"  GOVERNMENT,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  is 
altogether  a  practical  affair.  That  is  best  which 
works  best,  not  that  which  you  may  think  theoreti 
cally  the  best.  But  you  have  a  vague  notion  that 
a  democratic  government  is  something  intrinsically 
more  just,  and  has  a  better  moral  right  to  exist, 
than  a  monarchical  or  aristocratic  one.  This  is  a 
groundless  notion." 

"But  the  people  have  the  right  of  determining 
their  form  of  government,"  said  Professor  Clare. 

"  True,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  God  has  not  pre 
scribed  any  particular  form,  and  we  therefore  infer 
that  He  has  left  the  determination  of  it  to  society  ; 
and  we  infer,  too,  with  equal  right,  that  He  does 
not  care  what  the  form  is,  provided  it  secure  the 
ends  for  which  the  State  exists,  social  justice  and 


196  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

the  public  welfare.  So  far  as  the  mere  form  is 
concerned,  monarchy,  aristocracy,  democracy,  have 
each  an  equal  Divine  sanction  and  right  to  exist  ; 
and  the  people  may  establish  either  of  them,  or  any 
mixture  or  modification  of  them." 

"  The  sovereignty,  then,  resides*  in  the  peo 
ple,"  said  the  Professor. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  Doctor,  "  necessarily,  in 
herently,  indefeasibly,  and  inalienably.  But  this 
sovereignty  is  not  absolute  and  unbounded.  It  is 
limited  by  the  very  nature  of  the  objects  for  which 
the  State  exists — the  maintenance  of  the  relations 
of  right — the  rights  of  every  man  as  towards  his 
fellows,  and  of  his  fellows  as  towards  him  :  rights, 
I  say,  by  which  I  mean  whatever  may  be  justly  de 
manded  by  every  man,  and  from  every  man  in  so 
ciety — whatever  is  essential  to  his  being  and  well- 
being  as  a  man  which  he  cannot,  or  ought  not,  or 
will  not  obtain  singly,  but  only  in,  with,  and  through 
society.  Wherever  there  are  rights  there  is,  or 
there  should  be,  the  power  to  enforce  them.  This 
is  sovereignty — the  sovereignty  that  resides  in  the 
people  as  a  State — a  sovereignty  for  right,  but  not 
for  wrong.  It  is  a  sovereignty  limited  by  duty, 
the  duty  of  organizing  and  exercising  the  powers 
of  the  State  to  secure  the  best  good  of  the  people, 


AT     GREYSTONES.  197 

so  far  as  that  lies  within  the  sphere  of  the  State. 
Any  government  that  does  this  in  any  reasonably 
proximate  way,  is  legitimate,  no  matter  what  its 
form,  nor  how  it  got  established.  I  say,  any  gov 
ernment  that  does  this  in  a  reasonably  proximate 
way  ;  for  you  can  no  more  expect  to  realize  ideal 
perfection  in  government,  than  to  realize  the  ideal 
figures  of  mathematics." 

"  But  our  immortal  Declaration  of  Independ 
ence,  lays  it  down  that  human  governments  derive 
their  just  powers  from  the  consent  of  the  governed," 
said  the  Professor. 

"  And  like  all  such  general  positions,"  rejoined 
the  Doctor,  "  it  must  be  reasonably  and  not  fool 
ishly  interpreted,  otherwise  the  consequences  be 
come  theoretically  and  practically  troublesome. 

' '  In  the  first  place,  as  a  doctrine  on  the  origin 
and  rightful  ground  of  government,  let  us  take  care 
how  we  interpret  it. 

"  The  State,  and  there  can  be  no  State  without 
a  government  of  some  sort,  is  as  little  the  product 
of  deliberate  choice,  as  the  result  of  chance  or 
accidental  discovery.  It  is  no  contrivance,  no  mu 
tual  insurance  company  or  joint-stock  association, 
nor  any  contract  of  parties  creating  what  did  not 
exist  before.  Men  do  not  form  a  State  and  then 


198  DOC  TOE    OLDHAM 

go  into  it.  They  are  born  into  it.  It  is  something 
that  exists  wherever  society  exists — something  that 
has  always  existed — something  necessary  and  per 
petual.  Even  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  who  said,  '  I 
am  the  State/  said  on  his  death-bed,  '  I  depart, 
but  the  State  will  endure  forever/  It  is  something 
that  gets  itself  formed,  because  there  is  a  necessity 
for  it,  growing  out  of  the  necessity  for  men  to  live 
together  in  society. 

"  So  originally  with  government,  which  is  the 
organization  and  exercise  of  the  powers  of  the 
State.  Nothing  can  be  more  false  and  absurd  than 
the  theory  which  makes  a  c  social  contract '  the  ori 
gin  and  rightful  ground  of  government.  ^Govern 
ments,  in  a  right  theoretical  view,  are  not  made, 
formed,  constructed,  put  together,  after  a  mere  out 
ward  or  mechanical  fashion.  They  spring,  grow, 
take  form,  get  made  of  themselves,  in  a  natural 
and  living  way.  Spontaneous  growth,  from  an  in 
ward  principle,  is  the  law  of  all  organic  life. 

"  Society,  in  its  sovereign  capacity,  may  indeed 
deliberately  alter  an  existing  or  create  a  new  form 
of  government ;  but  the  State,  with  some  form  of 
government,  must  have  pre-existed,  to  render  this 
possible.  In  point  of  fact,  governments  are  seldom 
the  result  of  deliberate  adoption.  They  are  mostly 


AT     GREYS  TONES.  199 

the  product  of  spontaneous  growth,  or  of  the  ne 
cessity  of  circumstances,  and  none  the  worse,  in  the 
latter  case,  if  the  necessity  be  an  internal  one. 
Foreign  force  and  imposition  apart,  the  fact  that  a 
government  exists  and  maintains  itself  in  the  exer 
cise  of  the  supreme  powers  of  the  State,  is,  gener 
ally  speaMng,  the  sufficient  consent  of  the  gov 
erned — by  governed  meaning  the  nation  in  its  sov 
ereign  capacity.  No  formal  consent  is  necessary. 
The  consent  is  something  that  may  be  rightfully 
assumed. 

"  But,  perhaps,  in  the  next  place,  by  the  con 
sent  of  the  governed,  you  do  not  mean  the  formal, 
nor  even  the  implicit  and  assumed  consent  of  the 
nation,  but  the  consent,  express  or  tacit,  of  the  in 
dividuals  that  compose  it  ?  I  should  not  wonder 
if  this  were  your  notion." 

"It  is  something  like  it,  I  confess,"  said  the 
Professor. 

"  But  thus  understood,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  your 
immortal  Declaration  would  express  something  as 
absurdly  false  as  can  well  be  conceived. 

"  For  does  the  sovereignty  of  the  people  reside 
in  the  individuals  that  compose  the  nation — dis 
tinctly,  separately  and  independently  in  each  ?  If 
so,  then  either  it  is  complete  and  entire  in  each  ; 


200  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

each  individual  is  the  sovereign,  or  one  of  the  sov 
ereigns,  according  to  a  phrase  we  often  hear,  so  that 
the  sovereignty  of  the  State  is  merely  a  collective 
word  to  express  the  total  number  or  aggregation  of 
these  distinct,  separate  and  independent  sovereign 
ties. 

"  Or  else  it  is  fractionally  in  each  *  each  pos 
sesses  distinctly,  separately  and  independently,  a 
fractional  part — so  that  the  one  whole  and  complete 
sovereignty  of  the  people  is  composed  or  constituted 
by  the  addition  of  these  distinct,  separate  and  in 
dependent  fractions  of  sovereignty. 

"  But  neither  view  can  hold.  Falsehood  and 
absurdity  either  way. 

"  You  might  as  truly  and  wisely  say  that  your 
hands  or  feet,  your  fingers  or  toes,  every  several 
muscle  and  nerve  of  your  body,  possesses  each  a 
distinct,  separate  and  independent  life  and  living 
power  of  action  and  motion  ;  or  that  a  fractional 
part  of  the  life  and  power  of  the  body  resides  dis 
tinctly,  separately  and  independently  in  each  sev 
eral  member  and  organ. 

"The  sovereignty  of  the  people,  complete,  en 
tire  and  undivided,  resides  in  the  people,  as  one 
whole  body,  and  not  at  all  in  the  individual.  Sover 
eignty  is  not  an  attribute  of  individuals.  It  is  im- 


AT     GREY  STONES.  201 

possible  it  should  be.  The  sovereignty  of  the  State 
is  that  which,  within  its  sphere,  has  at  once  the 
supreme  right  and  power  in  and  of  itself,  to  govern, 
to  make  its  will  valid  and  irresistibly  effectual. 
This  no  individual  can  possess.  No  despot  that 
ever  lived,  not  the  most  absolute  wielder  of  the  su 
preme  powers  of  the  State,  ever  did  possess  it. 
Louis  the  Fourteenth,  who  called  himself  the  State, 
was  never  the  sovereign  of  France  in  the  high  sense 
of  the  word,  because  he  never  was  the  State,  nor 
could  be.  He  never  possessed  the  sovereignty  of 
France — never  possessed  nor  exercised  in  his  sole 
person,  the  right  and  power,  in  and  of  himself,  to 
make  his  own  will  irresistibly  valid.  His  power, 
great  as  it  was,  stood  in  the  consent  of  the  people, 
not  indeed  formally  and  individually  expressed,  but 
in  their  consent,  or  it  could  not  have  stood  at  all ; 
but  he  was  more  or  less  checked  in  the  absolute 
despotic  exercis^  of  it  in  many  ways — by  public 
opinion,  by  old  maxims,  laws  and  institutions  of  the 
State. 

"The  sovereignty,  then,  is  neither  inherent  in 
the  members  of  a  State,  as  individuals — nor  does 
the  possession  of  political  rights  and  the  exercise 
of  political  power  by  individuals — all,  many,  or  one, 

makes  no  difference — vest  the  sovereignty  in  the 
9* 


202  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

individual,  making  him  wholly  or  fractionally  a  sov 
ereign. 

"  The  notion,  therefore,  of  the  necessity  of  the 
(  consent  of  the  governed/  in  their  individual  capa 
city,  going  upon  the  idea  that  the  sovereignty  of 
the  State,  or  any  share  of  it,  is  possessed  by  the 
members  of  the  State,  as  individuals — and  the  no 
tion  can  go  upon  no  other  idea — is  one  that  cannot 
stand.  It  is  as  groundless  as  the  idea  it  goes  upon. 

"  Besides  :  your  immortal  Declaration  is  uni 
versal  in  its  terms.  It  should  be  so,  on  the  princi 
ple  you  adopt  ;  for  if  it  hold  at  all,  it  must  hold 
of  all.  Let  us  see  where  we  get.  There  are,  for 
instance,  a  great  many  malcontents  among  us,  who 
do  not  consent  to  our  Constitution,  but  would  rather 
overthrow  it  ;  some  in  the  name  of  liberty  and  the 
sacred  rights  of  man,  some  in  the  name  of  slavery 
and  the  sacred  right  of  property  in  man.  Are  such 
persons,  therefore,  absolved  from  allegiance  to  it, 
or  has  our  government  no  just  power  over  them  ?  " 

"  But  the  consent  of  the  majority,  I  suppose, 
is  meant,"  said  the  Professor. 

"  Well,"  rejoined  the  Doctor,  "  that  is  giving 
up  the  proposition  in  its  terms,  as  implying  the  in 
dividual  consent  of  all  the  governed.  So  far  so 
good.  But  to  say  that  human  governments  derive 


AT      GKEYSTONES.  203 

their  just  powers  from  the  consent  of  the  majority 
of  the  governed,  whether  of  all  the  individuals  in 
the  State,  or  of  a  part  of  them,  (those,  namely,  who 
are  voters,)  is  equally  a  false  interpretation  of  your 
immortal  Declaration.  The  just  powers  of  a  gov 
ernment  stand  only  in  the  consent  of  the  body  in 
which  the  sovereignty  inherently  resides.  There  is 
no  inherent  sovereignty  in  a  majority  any  more 
than  in  a  minority,  either  as  individuals  or  as  a 
body.  The  sovereignty,  as  I  have  said,  is  in  the 
people  of  the  State,  as  one  whole  body.  It  is 
a  sovereignty  of  which  the  people  cannot  divest 
themselves.  They  may  indeed  delegate  the  prac 
tical  exercise  of  the  powers  of  the  State,  at  their 
pleasure  and  during  their  pleasure,  to  one,  to 
many,  or  to  all,  of  the  members  of  the  State- 
may  delegate,  that  is,  all  they  can  delegate,  with 
or  without  conditions  and  limitations,  as  they  may 
choose.  In  a  democratic,  or  in  a  mixed  republican 
State,  where  popular  suffrage  prevails,  the  sovereign 
consent  of  the  people  may  find  expression,  their 
sovereign  will  may  get  practical  validity,  through 
the  action  of  all  the  voters  and  the  concurrence  of 
a  majority  of  them  ;  only  you  must  remember  that 
the  action  of  the  majority  is  taken  as  decisive  of 
any  question  submitted  to  suffrage,  not  because  of 


204  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

any  inherent  exclusive  right  in  the  majority  to  be 
the  decisive  organ  of  the  sovereign,  any  more  than 
to  be  the  sovereign  itself,  but  simply  from  the  ne 
cessity  of  having  a  decision,  and  because  it  is  as 
sumed  to  be,  on  the  whole,  the  wisest  and  most  ex 
pedient  way  of  getting  it,  though  it  may  happen 
in  many  cases  that  the  actual  decision  is  very  far 
from  being  the  wisest  and  best. 

'  You  must  distinguish  then  between  the  sover 
eign  and  its  representative — between  the  power 
that  delegates  and  the  authority  that  is  delegated. 
In  governments  where  the  constitution  and  the  ad 
ministration  of  the  powers  of  the  State  depend 
primarily  upon  the  action  of  a  majority,  both  its 
action  and  that  of  all  the  public  functionaries 
created  by  it,  is  taken  and  held  to  be  not  their  ac 
tion,  but  that  of  the  sovereign  State.  It  runs  in 
the  name  of  the  people,  and  is  so  recited  in  all  offi 
cial  forms.  It  is,  for  instance,  '  The  People  of  the 
State  of  New  York/  that  is  said  to  enact,  judge, 
and  execute,  through  them.  Their  authority  is  not 
imperial,  but  only  ministerial.  The  only  imperial 
power  is  that  of  the  People  of  the  State. 

"  You  must  remember,  too,  that  the  majority, 
acting  as  the  representative  of  the  sovereign  State, 
cannot  rightfully  exercise  its  delegated  authority  in 


AT     GREYSTONES.  205 

any  arbitrary  or  absolute  way.  The  sovereign  State 
itself  has  imperial  power  only  within  its  sphere  and 
for  its  just  ends.  It  cannot  delegate  what  it  does 
not  possess.  The  State  is  a  moral  person  ;  it  has 
of  right  no  sovereign  power  to  do  wrong,  and  it 
can  confer  no  such  power.  It  has  no  just  right  to 
have  its  own  will  and  way  at  all  events  and  in  any 
way ;  and  it  can  invest  no  majority  acting  in  its 
name  and  behalf  with  any  such  right.  The  right 
ful  powers  of  a  majority  are  restrained  by  all  the 
limitations  by  which  the  sovereignty  of  the  people 
is  restrained.  The  stream  cannot  rise  higher  than 
the  source  from  which  it  springs. 

"  And  here  we  touch  upon  the  great  danger  in 
all  governments — the  danger  of  absolutism.  All 
power  is  liable  to  abuse.  Absolute  power  is  safe 
only  in  the  hands  of  God.  It  is  always  dangerous 
in  human  hands,  whether  lodged  in  one,  in  a  few, 
or  in  the  majority.  Yet  public  power  inevitably 
tends  to  absolutism.  But  democratic  absolutism  is 
as  dangerous  as  monarchical — more  so  in  some  re 
spects  ;  and  it  is  less  easily  got  rid  of,  when  it  be 
comes  intolerable.  It  is  possible  to  cut  off  the 
head  of  a  single  tyrant,  but  who  is  to  cut  off  the 
million  heads  of  a  tyrannical  majority  ? 

t(  Democratic  power  has  its  flatterers,  equally 


206  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

with  monarchical.  Demagogues  are  the  courtiers 
of  the  majority.  The  sense  of  moral  responsibility 
is  comparatively  little  felt  by  men  acting  in  a  mass 
— especially  if  irritated  by  opposition,  as  they  are 
prone  to  be,  or  excited  by  passion,  as  they  are  very 
liable  to  be.  The  absolute  will  of  a  single  despot 
is  restrained  by  many  necessities  and  limitations, 
moral  and  circumstantial.  His  power  cannot  stand 
solely  in  himself ;  it  must  support  itself  on  some- 
thing  without,  on  opinion.  He  is  compelled  to  con 
sider  whether  he  can  effect  what  he  wishes.  Louis 
Napoleon's  imperial  throne  could  not  stand  for  a 
day,  if  it  had  nothing  to  rest  upon  but  his  hundred 
and  seventy-five  thousand  bayonets.  But  what  is 
there  to  restrain  a  majority  bent  on  having  its  own 
way  ?  It  makes  its  own  opinion,  and  there  is  no 
outside  power  able  to  resist  its  will. 

"  Many  persons  talk  as  if  there  was  no  other  ab 
solutism  than  monarchical.  This  is  a  mistake. 
The  Athenian  government  became  a  democratic  ab 
solutism.  So  did  the  French  at  one  time.  So  may 
any  other.  And  there  are  no  atrocities  of  tyranny 
perpetrated  by  single  despots,  but  democratic  des 
potism  has  equalled  or  surpassed  them.  Pharaoh 
put  the  male  infants  of  the  Hebrews  to  death,  to 
prevent  the  increase  of  that  people  ;  the  Spartans 


AT      GREYSTONES.  207 

were  wont  to  kill  the  Helots,  c  as  many '  (the  histo 
rian  says)  '  as  was  necessary/  whenever  they  found 
their  numbers  inconveniently  large.  The  massacre 
of  St.  Bartholomew's  finds  its  prototype  in  the 
murder  of  the  minority  by  the  Corcyrean  majority. 
Some  old  tyrant  (I  forget  his  name)  put  a  man  to 
death  who  dreamed  he  had  slain  the  tyrant,  and 
was  foolish  enough  to  tell  his  dream.  But  the 
French  tribunals  at  one  time  beat  that  ;  they  cut 
off  old  women's  heads,  for  '  suspicion  of  incivisme,' 
suspicion  of  not  being  inwardly  pleased  with  the 
bloody  doings  of  the  majority  !  I  doubt  if  the 
records  of  monarchical  despotism  can  show  any 
thing  equal  to  that. 

u  Do  not  infer  from  this  that  I  am  in  favor  of 
monarchical  absolutism.  I  would  have  none  of  any 
sort.  I  mean  only  to  enforce  the  necessity  of  guard 
ing  against  the  dangerous  tendency  to  democratic 
absolutism.  Let  the  majority  get  a  habit  of  feeling 
that  they  are  the  people — that  they  have  the  right 
to  do  whatever  they  like,  and  to  treat  the  minority 
as  if  not  belonging  to  the  people — that  he  who  op 
poses  a  monarchical  absolutism  is  a  hero,  and,  if  he 
falls,  a  martyr  in  a  sacred  cause,  but  he  who  op 
poses  the  absolutism  of  a  majority,  is  a  criminal, 
who  may  rightfully  be  crushed  by  the  sovereign 


208  DOCTOR      OLDHAM 

power  he  opposes  ;  let  such  sentiments  come  to 
prevail,  and  what  will  there  be  but  the  worst  of  all 
tyrannies,  the  tyranny  of  an  irresponsible,  irresisti 
ble  majority  ?  What  force,  then,  in  laws  and  con 
stitutions  ? 

"  I  do  not  say  we  have  come  to  this,  or  are 
coming.  But  is  there  not  reason  enough,  in  human 
nature,  in  the  quality  of  power  to  delight  in  itself ; 
to  grow  and  strengthen  itself;  to  impose  upon 
its  own  conscience,  with  a  notion  of  its  inherent 
right  ;  to  be  irritated  at  opposition,  and  so  become 
self-willed  and  unjust  ;  in  all  this,  and  in  the  per 
nicious  influence  of  demagogue  courtiers,  their  arts 
and  flatteries,  is  there  not  reason  enough  for  appre 
hension  of  what  may  come  in  the  future  ?  Are 
there  no  tokens  of  the  existence  of  such  false  and 
dangerous  sentiments  ?  Are  there  no  symptoms 
of  their  increase  and  spread  ? 

"  The  more  popular  rights,  the  more  duties,  and 
the  more  need  of  wisdom  and  goodness  in  the  peo 
ple." 


AT     GKEYSTONES.  209 


CHAPTER   XX. 


VERY   SHORT,    PERHAPS  UNPALATABLE — YET,  IP   TRUE,    OUGHT   NOT    TO 
GIVE  OFFENCE  TO  ANY  GOOD  MAN. 


"  BUT,  perhaps,  husband,  you  have  not  the 
faith  you  should  have  in  the  virtue  of  the  people/' 
said  Mrs.  Oldham.  She  had  been  listening  in  si 
lence  until  now. 

"  I  have  all  proper  respect  for  the  virtue  of  the 
people/'  replied  the  Doctor.  "  I  believe  the  great 
mass  of  them  have  virtue  enough  to  follow  their 
private  callings,  for  the  most  part,  with  tolerable 
honesty — many  of  them  with  exemplary  upright 
ness.  The  great  mass  of  the  people,  especially  '  off 
the  pavements/  as  an  eminent  statesman  and  friend 
of  mine  says,  have  political  virtue  enough  to  wish 
the  country  to  be  rightly  and  uprightly  governed. 
But  their  virtue  doesn't  prevent  their  being  tools 
in  the  hands  of  political  managers." 

"But  who  are  they?" 


210  DOCTOR    OLD HAM 

"  Very  different  men,  my  dear,  from  those  of 
the  earlier  and  Letter  times.  Sixty  years  ago  men 
like  John  Jay — a  name  synonymous  with  every 
thing  great  and  good — statesmanly  wisdom,  pure 
patriotism,  unsullied  honor,  incorruptible  integrity, 
had  an  influence  in  public  affairs,  and  on  the  poli 
tics  of  the  State,  which  such  men  do  not  have 
now." 

"  But  of  what  sort  are  the  managers  nowa 
days  ?  " 

"  Professor  Clare  knows,  my  dear.  Are  they 
such  men  as  John  Jay,  Professor  ?  " 

"  No,  I  must  confess  they  are  not,"  said  he. 

"  But  what  is  their  character  ?  "  persisted  Mrs. 
Oldham. 

f  You  have  no  personal  acquaintance  with  such 
men  ;  I  trust  you  will  never  have  ;  and  it  is  hard 
to  make  you  comprehend  precisely  the  species. 
But  in  general  you  may  understand  that  they  are 
men  of  small  private  and  less  public  virtue.  If 
we  look  to  the  case  of  your  native  city  below,  1 
should  say  the  individual  managers  are  for  the  most 
part  men  your  father  would  not  have  liked  to  shake 
hands  or  walk  the  streets  with.  There  was  a 
time,  in  his  day,  when  a  De  Witt  Clinton  could  be 
be  mayor  for  twelve  years,  and  Kichard  Varick  for 
I  don't  know  how  many." 


AT      GREYSTONES.  21] 

"  But  could  not  such  men  have  the  office  now 
adays,  if  they  would  take  it  ?  " 

"  'No,  my  dear,  not  a  chance  for  it,  unless  in 
some  extraordinary  combined  reaction  of  the  proper 
ty-holders  and  decent  and  respectable  people  of  all 
parties,  after  some  stupendously  profligate  and  cor 
rupt  administration,  it  might  be  possible  to  put  an 
able  and  good  man  in  for  once.  But  for  the  most 
part  it  is  necessary  to  success  that  a  man  renounce 
integrity  and  honor  ;  put  himself  into  the  hands  of 
party  politicians  ;  give  pledges  of  jobs,  contracts 
and  plunder  to  men  who  make  corruption  a  trade, 
buying  up  at  the  highest  price  the  suffrages  and 
fists  of  the  affiliated  vice  and  ruffianism,  that  holds 
the  balance  of  power. 

"  No,  my  dear  wife,  New  York  is  ruled  nowa 
days  by  such  men  as — rule  it. 

"  How  far  the  same  thing  is  true  elsewhere  and 
throughout  the  country,  is  more  than  would  be 
pleasant  for  you  to  know. 

"  So  much  for  the  political  virtue  of  the  people. 
Really  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  too  much  of  it, 
not  enough,  I  am  afraid,  for  us  to  get  on  in  the  best 
way.  But  we  shall  get  on  after  a  fashion  for  some 
time,  I  make  no  doubt.  But  if  we  keep  on  as  we 
are  now  going,  there  will  come  a  time  when  we 


212  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

shall  not  get  on  at  all  ;  things  will  rush  down,  per 
haps,  in  some  memorably  disastrous  way,  and  amidst 
anarchic  storms  and  darkness,  get  righted  again  in 
some  fashion,  as  best  it  can,  for  another  start.  The 
old  story  over  again.  But  I  think  not  in  our  time, 
wife.  Possibly  we  may  grow  better  before  it  gets 
to  that." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  we  may,  husband." 

"  It  is  a  Christian  wish,  wife;  in  which  I  heart 
ily  join." 


AT    GREYSTONES.  213 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ALSO    SHORT — NOT  WITHOUT    INTEREST  FOR    SOME    MINDS — BUT   LIKELY 
TO  DISPLEASE  TWO  SORTS  OF  READERS  AND  TO  SHOCK  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"  BUT  there  is  our  system  of  public  instruction," 
said  the  Professor  ;  "  our  common  schools,  primary 
and  higher,  with  our  admirable  school  libraries  ; 
— there  is  something  to  give  us  hope  for  a  better 
future/' 

"  All  very  well,  and  much  to  be  rejoiced  in," 
returned  the  Doctor,  "  but  not  enough  in  themselves 
to  make  private  or  public  virtue  sure.  Knowledge 
is  a  power  for  evil  as  well  as  for  good. 

"  You  remind  me  of  something  that  happened 
a  little  Tvhile  ago  in  town.  I  was  in  the  book  re 
pository  of  one  of  the  most  eminent  publishing 
houses  of  the  country,  passing  down  the  long 
length  of  that  vast  hall,  with  its  two  rows  of  hand 
some  columns  supporting  the  ceiling,  and  looking 
at  the  immense  piles  of  books — eighty  thousand 


214  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

volumes — ordered  by  the  State  of  Ohio  for  their 
public  school  libraries — lying  there  to  be  made  ready 
for  transportation — when  the  head  of  the  house, 
who  was  walking  with  me,  remarked  that  Mr.  Cob- 
den,  the  celebrated  member  of  the  British  Parlia 
ment,  then  on  a  visit  to  this  country,  was  there  a 
few  days  before,  and,  looking  at  the  books,  said  to 

him  :  '  Ah,  Mr.  A ,  there  is  the  bulwark  of 

your  institutions/ 

"  Ah,  Mr.  A ,"  said  I,  "  why  didn't  you 

tell  him  the  Evil  One  knows  ten  times  as  much  as 
there  is  in  all  the  books  in  your  store,  and  it  doesn't 
make  him  good  at  all  ?  " 

"  But  are  you  sure  Mr.  Cobden  believes  there 
is  any  Evil  One  ?  "  said  Professor  Clare. 

"  That  makes  no  difference  to  the  argument," 
replied  the  Doctor. 

"  But  you  believe  there  is  one  ?  "  said  the  Pro 
fessor. 

"  Well,  if  there  be,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  he  is 
God's  creature — for  I  don't  believe  in  an  infinite 
and  self-existent  Evil  One — and  so  I  hope  God  will 
be  able  to  reclaim  him  to  goodness,  as  I  am  sure 
His  nature  would  lead  Him  to  wish  to  do.  But  I 
am  quite  sure  no  amount  of  c  useful  knowledge ' 
will  ever  make  him  good." 


AT     GREYSTONES.  215 

"  0  husband,  why  do  you  speak  in  such  a  way  ? 
Mrs.  Shafton  was  scandalized  the  other  day  by  what 
you  said." 

"  What  was  it  ?  " 

"  Something  about  the  Evil  One,  much  like 
what  you  have  just  now  said." 

"What,  my  charitable  wish  for  his  conver 
sion  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  quite  shocked  her." 

"  Then  she  needed  to  be  shocked.  A  person 
who  is  shocked  at  the  mere  suggestion  of  a  benevo 
lent  wish,  for  the  restoration  to  goodness  and  bless 
edness,  of  one  of  the  highest  order  of  God's  spir 
itual  creatures,  ought  to  be  shocked  a  number  of 
times — if  only  it  would  do  any  good." 

"  But  she  supposed  you  meant  he  would  be  re 
stored." 

"  That  is  not  my  fault.  I  didn't  say  any  such 
thing  ;  and  a  person  ought  to  have  a  double  gal 
vanic  shock,  for  not  distinguishing  between  the  sug 
gestion  of  a  charitable  wish  and  a  positive  belief  on 
the  subject — if  it  would  quicken  the  faculty  of  dis 
tinguishing  just  distinctions.  Which  is  the  most 
shocking,  the  most  contradictory  to  the  natural  and 
necessary  impulse  of  the  best  and  most  gracious 
feelings  of  the  benevolent  heart,  to  wish  the  evil 


216  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

and  wretched  may  continue  eternally  evil  and 
wretched,  or  to  wish  they  may  become  good  and 
blessed  ?  It  seems  to  me  the  former  is  far  the  most 
shocking  of  the  two." 

"  But  you  don't  believe  he  will  be  restored  ?  " 

"  No,  though  it  has  been  the  belief  of  many 
great  and  godly  men  and  doctors  of  the  church, 
from  the  time  of  Origen  to  the  present  day.  But 
I  have  no  doctrine  on  the  subject,  whatever  I  may 
wish  or  hope.  I  don't  know  but  he  will  continue 
forever  evil ;  and  if  so  he  must  be  forever  wretched. 
That  is  a  law  of  the  spiritual  universe,  which  the 
Almighty  cannot  abrogate  if  He  would,  and  ought 
not  if  He  could. 

"But  this  I  do  know  :  that  it  lies  in  the  very 
necessity  of  God's  essential  Goodness — His  Loving- 
Holiness  and  Holy  Lovingness — that  He  should  de 
sire  and — as  far  as  in  Him  lies — secure  the  good 
ness,  and  thereby  the  blessedness,  of  all  His  spirit 
ual  creatures.  He  would  not  otherwise  be  God. 
He  would  become — I  speak  it  in  no  irreverent  spirit 
— the  Infinite  Evil  One.  This  I  know  by  the  ne 
cessity  of  the  reason  He  has  given  me. 

"  I  know,  too,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  that  His  love 
is  not  confined  to  the  good.  It  embraces  the  sinful 
race  of  man.  He  has  shown  it  in  some  very  won- 


AT     GREYSTONES.  217 

derful  methods  for  our  restoration.  And  I  see  no 
reason  in  the  nature  of  superhuman  sinful  spirits, 
if  such  there  are — the  Bible  says  there  are,  and  it  is 
nothing  strange  there  should  be — why  they  should 
be  excluded  from  the  sphere  of  God's  reclaiming 
love.  He  is  the  Father  of  their  spirits  as  much  as 
of  ours.  They  are  His  children  as  much  as  we 
are.  They  must  have  been,  like  us,  originally  pure 
and  good — for  God  made  them,  and  higher  and 
brighter,  we  are  told,  in  order  and  endowment  than 
our  race.  They  fell  from  goodness  and  bliss  in  the 
same  way  as  we  did,  in  spite  of  the  good  and  gra 
cious  spirit  of  God  in  them  to  help  them  keep  right, 
— fell  through  abuse  of  their  freedom,  that  awful 
endowment,  without  which  there  could  be  no  moral 
universe." 

"  But,  husband,  the  Bible  seems  to  say  that  in 
point  of  fact  they  will  continue  forever  evil  and 
wretched/' 

"  It  may  be  so  ;  God  cannot  force  them  to  be 
come  good  any  more  than  us  ;  but  we  must  believe 
in  Him  as  doing  all  He  can  for  their  restoration. 
They  may  be  forever  evil  and  so  forever  wretched, 
because  they  can  resist  all  God's  love  and  grace 
drawing  them  to  goodness.  This  is  the  only  way 

we  can  reconcile  such  a  sad  fate  with  the  idea  of  a 
10 


218  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

proper  moral  universe,  the  only  way  to  have  a  good 
G-od  and  common  sense  in  our  theology. 

"  But  the  thought  of  Eternal  Evil  in  the  spir 
itual  universe  of  the  Infinite,  Holy,  Loving  All- 
Father,  is  one  I  do  not  like  to  entertain.  The 
thought  that  it  will  be  so  through  defect  of  any 
thing  He  can  do  to  prevent  it  is  monstrous.  The 
thought  that  it  will  be  so  through  any  eternal  pur 
pose  or  agency  of  His  is  abominable.  It  is  not  the 
'  enmity  of  the  carnal  heart/  as  some  folks  say, 
that  resists  it  ;  it  is  the  voice  of  God  in  the  uni 
versal  reason  and  conscience  revolting  against  the 
atrocious  doctrine.  I  would  rather  be  an  Atheist 
than  hold  it. 

"  Is  it  not  better,  more  congruous  with  every  dic 
tate  of  a  good  and  benevolent  heart,  to  hope  that  in 
some  way,  yet  unknown  to  us,  Evil  will  go  down, 
vanquished,  absorbed/  extinguished  and  destroyed 
by  the  all-conquering  power  of  Infinite  Love  ? 
How  great  its  resources  may  be,  without  doing  vio 
lence  to  spiritual  freedom,  who  can  tell  ?  " 

I  have  already,  at  the  outset  of  this  work,  ap 
prised  the  reader  that  the  Doctor  would  be  likely 
to  say  a  good  many  things  not  perfectly  acceptable 
to  everybody,  and  some  perhaps  offensive  to  many 


AT     GREYSTONES.  219 

persons,  including  all  the  Pharisees,  Sadducees  and 
Herodians,  who,  as  well  as  some  of  quite  a  different 
and  better  sort,  are  all  likely  to  be  displeased  with 
this  chapter. 

I  do  not  hold  myself  responsible  for  all  the  Doc 
tor's  utterances.  My  business  is  to  record  his  talk. 
At  the  same  time  I  would  not  set  down  any  thing 
which  I  did  not  think  would,  on  the  whole,  be  ap 
proved  by  all  courteous,  candid,  intelligent,  dis 
criminating,  thoughtful  and  judicious  readers,  and 
such  I  take  it  are  all  who  read,  and  certainly  all 
who  like  this  book. 


220  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 


CHAPTEE    XXII. 

THE    DOCTOR  AT  A  WOMAN'S   RIGHTS   CONVENTION — WHAT   HE    DID    NOT 
SAY  THERE,  BUT  WOULD  HAVE  SAID  IP  HE  HAD  SAID  ANY  THING. 

MRS.  OLDHAM  was  sitting  one  evening  listening 
in  her  placid  way  to  something  she  did  not  take 
much  interest  in,  which  Professor  Clare  was  read 
ing  to  the  Doctor  out  of  a  newspaper  he  had 
brought  with  him  when  he  came  in,  employing  her 
self  the  while  with  one  of  those  elegant  industries 
which  occupy  the  hands  of  women  without  absorb 
ing  their  attention. 

There  is  a  fashion,  I  observe,  in  these  things  ; 
and  her  work  was  of  a  sort  I  perceive  to  have  be 
come  very  fashionable  of  late — the  netting  of  soft 
wools  into  various  articles  for  women's  heads  and 
shoulders,  and  even  into  cloaks  and  large  shawls  or 
blankets — Afghans,  Lilly  says  they  call  them — to 
be  worn  as  a  protection  against  dust  in  summer 
drives.  Very  beautiful  fabrics,  too,  many  of  them 


AT     GREYS  TONES.  221 

are,  from  their  rich  harmony  of  manifold  bright  col 
ors,  and  so  fleecy  and  light  withal,  that  there  is 
not  the  least  feeling  of  weight  in  wearing  them. 

I  have  often  heard  it  said  it  was  a  pity  that 
gentlemen  have  not  some  nice  occupation  for  their 
hands,  too,  during  the  hours  they  pass  with  the 
women  in  the  family  reunion,  or  in  the  small  social 
gathering  ;  for  that  it  makes  the  men  look  so  lout 
ish  to  be  sitting  idly  by,  or  only  wagging  their 
tongues,  while  the  women's  nimble  fingers  are  pro 
ducing  such  pretty  and  useful  results,  all  the  time 
their  tongues  are  running  on  in  the  most  agreeable 
way. 

But  I  could  never  agree  with  this  opinion.  It 
seems  to  me  this  occupation  of  the  hands  at  such 
times  is  something  exclusively  feminine,  and  mark 
ing  very  fitly  a  distinction  between  men  and  women 
I  lay  the  greatest  stress  upon  the  observance  of. 
Of  course  I  am  not  speaking  in  the  spirit  of  an 
American  savage,  nor  of  the  drudgeries  of  labor  ; 
and  so,  Miss  Amanda  Kose,  your  sweet  earnest  face 
need  not  flush  with  the  sacred  fire  of  holy  displeas 
ure.  I  intend  nothing  derogatory  to  your  lovely 
sex.  On  the  contrary,  my  opinion  is  grounded  in  a 
sentiment  of  genuine  reverence  for  all  that  is  most 
truly  womanly,  and  therefore  most  to  be  reverenced 


222  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

in  woman.  And  I  am  happy  to  have  the  Doctor's 
wife  on  my  side  in  this  matter.  For  I  asked  her 
how  she  liked  the  notion  of  such  parlor  occupations 
for  men's  fingers.  She  said — not  at  all  ;  she  would 
be  ashamed  to  see  them,  it  would  look  so  unmanly  ; 
she  would  rather  see  tho  men  twiddling  their  fin 
gers  the  whole  evening  without  saying  a  word. 

"  Ah,  my  dear/''  said  the  Doctor,  "  you  are  not 
one  of  the  strong-minded  women.  You  should 
have"  attended  the  Woman's  Eights  Convention 
that  was  held  here  last  week.  You  might  have 
been  converted  by  the  beautiful  eloquence  of  those 
female  apostles.  You  might  have  caught  the  spirit 
of  sublime  devotion  with  which  they  declared  their 
resolution  never  to  give  over  demanding  the  sacred 
right  of  making  men  of  themselves,  and  their  readi 
ness,  if  need  be,  '  to  lay  themselves ' — in  their  own 
exalted  language — (  on  the  altar  of  sacrifice  '  for  the 
holy  cause." 

"  I  am  glad  I  did  not  go  to  see  women  behaving 
in  such  an  unwomanly  way,"  said  Mrs.  Oldham. 
"  I  should  have  been  ashamed  at  the  sight  ;  and  I 
certainly  was  ashamed  of  you  for  countenancing 
them  by  your  presence,  as  you  did. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  continued,  addressing  Pro 
fessor  Clare,  "  that  my  husband  was  there  the 


AT     GREYSTONES.  223 

whole  time  ?  He  came  home  during  their  recess, 
and  could  talk  of  nothing  but  the  beautiful  faces 
of  some  of  those  women,  and  the  beautiful  lan 
guage  and  way  of  speaking  of  all  of  them.  He 
went  back  without  his  dinner — we  dine  late,  you 
know — because  he  would  not  miss  the  afternoon 
speeches  ;  and  was  in  a  hurry  for  his  tea  at  night, 
that  he  might  attend  their  last  session.  I  was  se 
riously  afraid  he  was  going  to  catch  the  infection  of 
their  doctrines  ;  in  fact  I  expected  nothing  but  he 
would — with  the  zeal  of  a  new  convert — bring  home 
with  him  the  strong-minded  President,  and  the 
chief  preacher,  and  certainly  the  beautiful  young 
orator,  Miss  Paulina  Paul,  who  did  not  believe  in 
St.  Paul,  but  whose  loveliness — of  mind — filled  him 
— my  husband,  I  mean,  not  St.  Paul — with  such 
rapt  admiration.  Think  of  my  having  to  act  the 
part  of  Martha  and  of  Mary  both  to  such  exalted 
guests — to  serve  them,  and  at  the  same  time  to  sit  at 
their  feet,  if  peradventure  I  might  be  also  con 
verted  to  a  disciple,  and  perhaps  to  an  apostle,  for 
that  I  suppose  is  what  my  husband  would  have 
hoped  for." 

"  Ah,  wife,  I  don't  doubt  you  would  have  made 
a  charming  apostle  of  Woman's  Rights — perhaps 
all  the  better  for  having  such  a  gift  for  inventing 


224  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

facts,  as  you  have  just  shown.  But  I  had  rather 
have  you  as  you  are.  I  could  not  get  along  with 
out  you  at  home,  and  it  would  be  out  of  the  ques 
tion  my  accompanying  you  on  your  apostolic  trav 
els.  All  the  while  the  chief  preacher,  the  Rever- 
end  Mrs.  Black  Brown,  was  talking,  I  could  not 
help  thinking  with  pity  of  her  husband,  and  how 
lonely  and  dreary  he  must  find  his  home,  after  be 
ing  hard  at  work  all  day  among  his  patients,  while 
she  is  always  away  on  those  missionary  excursions, 
spreading  the  Gospel  of  Woman's  Rights.  I  don't 
think  apostles  of  either  sex  ought  to  be  married, 
and  that,  I  presume,  is  the  reason  why  I  listened 
with  so  much  more  pleasure  to  the  lovely  Paulina 
Paul,  and  even  to  the  hard-faced  Margaret  St.  An 
thony,  than  to  the  fervent  Mrs.  Black  Brown.  I 
was  not  disturbed  in  their  case  by  any  compassion 
ate  thoughts  of  pining  babies  and  forlorn  husbands. 
But  then  Dr.  Black  Brown  has  no  reason  to  com 
plain  ;  for  his  wife — I  ought  rather  to  say  his  part 
ner — told  me  she  made  it  a  condition  of  entering 
into  the  partnership,  that  he  should  stay  at  home 
and  take  care  of  the  children,  leaving  her  at  lib 
erty  to  go  whenever  and  wherever  she  pleased,  in 
the  fulfilment  of  her  great  mission." 

"  But  you  did  attend  the  Convention  ?  "  said 
the  Professor. 


AT     GBEYSTONES.  225 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  my  wife  is  right 
as  to  that.  In  this  age  of  great  movements  of  so 
cial  reform,  I  think  it  quite  proper  for  those  who 
have  any  function  of  public  instruction  by  speech 
or  pen,  to  make  themselves  acquainted  with  the 
way  in  which  these  modern  notions  are  held  in  the 
minds  of  the  leaders.  So  I  went  to  the  place  of 
meeting,  and  was  standing  on  the  steps  when  the 
President,  Miss  Margaret  St.  Anthony,  came  up  ; 
and  a  person  with  whom  I  was  talking  presented 
me  to  her,  without  waiting  to  learn  if  it  would  be 
mutually  agreeable.  She  said  she  hoped  I  would 
go  in  and  take  part  in  the  discussions  they  were 
about  to  engage  in. 

"  I  told  her  I  could  not  think  of  debating  such 
questions  with  the  women." 

"  (  Ah/  said  she,  ( you  don't  think  us  women 
worthy  of  being  argued  with  ?  ' 

"  '  I  don't  indeed  think/  said  I,  '  that  the  logi 
cal  faculty  is  so  pre-eminently  the  gift  of  wo 
men  in  general,  as  that  of  quick  intuitional  insight, 
and  the  latter,  it  seems  to  me,  is  a  finer  one  than 
the  merely  logical  discursive  faculty — at  all  event? 
a  different  one,  and  the  characteristic  endowment 
of  women.' 

" (  But   how   do   you   know/    said    she,    '  we 
10* 


226  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

should  not  evince  an  equal  degree  of  logical  power, 
if  we  had  the  same  advantages  of  training  as  the 
men/ 

"  f  Very  possibly/  said  I,  e  and  in  many  in 
stances  undoubtedly  in  a  higher  degree  than  most 
men.  But  I  think  there  is  a  sex  in  souls  as  well 
as  in  bodies.' 

"  '  We  do  not  deny  that/  was  her  reply  ;  '  but 
should  woman  on  that  account  be  deprived  of  her 
rights  ? ' 

"  '  By  no  means/  I  answered  ;  l  most  certainly 
not  of  any  sacred  rights,  belonging  to  human  per 
sons  as  such,  nor  of  your  special  rights  as  women, 
to  be  good  daughters,  sisters,  wives,  mothers,  house 
wives,  mistresses  and  friends  ;  and  as  to  all  other 
rights,  I  don't  know  any  objection  to  your  having 
as  many  of  them  as  you  want,  if  it  don't  unsex  you, 
and  spoil  you  for  being  the  particular  sort  of  divine 
thing  you  were  Divinely  made  to  be.  I  don't  know 
as  you  care  for  the  right  of  bearing  arms,  running 
with  the  fire  engines,  holding  the  plough,  going  on 
whaling  voyages,  and  such  like — and  if  you  do,  I 
don't  know  as  there  is  any  thing  to  hinder  your  en 
joyment  of  them,  except  your  inability  to  discharge 
them  to  any  good  purpose.  But  there  is  one  right 
in  particular  we  men  have,  I  hardly  dare  ask 
whether  you  desire  to  possess  it/ 


AT     GREYSTONES.  227 

"'  What  is  it?' 

"  '  The  right  of  making  fools  of  ourselves/ 

"  e  Ah,  you  think  we  women  are  not  deprived  of 
that  right/  said  she. 

"  By  this  time  the  hour  for  opening  the  Con 
vention  had  come,  and  she  went  in  to  preside. 

"  My  wife  is  partly  right  in  what  she  says  of  the 
impression  they  produced  on  my  mind  ;  for  it  was 
to  me  a  very  striking  and  curious  sight  to  see  those 
women,  most  of  them  quite   young,  many  of  them 
very  pretty,  and  all  of  them  very  bright-minded, 
making  themselves  foolish,  which  is  certainly  one 
of  the  rights  they  enjoy  equally  with  us  men.     And 
such  beautiful  writers  and  speakers  were  they,  and 
mistresses  (masters  if  they  prefer)  of  such  a  clear, 
pure   English  style,  and  such  true  eloquence   of 
speech — putting  most  men  to  shame  in  these  re 
spects,  and  with  such  ingenious  sophistries  did  they 
blend  the  true  and  the  false  together,  and  beg  the 
very  questions  to  be  proved — unconsciously  I  am 
bound  to  think,  for  they  did  it  with  such  apparent 
good  faith  and  simple  earnestness  of  conviction — 
that  I  could  not  but  think  it  would  go  hard  but  they 
would  upset  the  world,  were  it  not  that  the  Good 
Lord  had  had  the  making  of  it. 

"  When  the  talking  was  all  over,  and  the  Con- 


228  DOCTOK    OLD  II  AM 

vention  dissolved,  as  I  was  passing  out,  the  chief 
preacher  asked  me  if  I  was  in  any  degree  converted 
by  what  I  had  heard. 

"  '  Not  the  least  in  the  world/  said  I ;  '  all  you 
and  your  sister  apostles  have  so  beautifully  and  elo 
quently  said,  has  made  no  more  impression  upon 
my  judgment  than  the  little  hail  drops  on  the  win 
dows  ;  for  1  see  the  principles  you  go  upon  are  very 
false  and  veiy  bad/ 

'  But  why/  said  she,  '  did  you  not  express 
your  views  in  the  Convention  ?  We  repeatedly  in 
vited  those  who  did  not  think  with  us  to  speak 
their  thoughts  freely/ 

"  '  True/  I  replied,  '  but  you  took  care  not  to 
give  them  the  least  chance  to  do  so.  You  did  not 
wait  so  much  as  one-quarter  of  a  minute  in  any 
instance,  before  some  one  of  your  own  number  be 
gan  talking  again/  " 

"  But,  surely,  husband,  you  would  not  have 
spoken  there,  even  if  they  had  given  you  a  chance  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Oldham. 

"  Certainly  not,  my  dear  ;  nothing  could  have 
induced  me  to  open  my  mouth  in  such  an  assem 
bly  ;  and  even  if  I  had  been  otherwise  disposed  to 
do  so,  I  should  have  been  deterred  by  the  fear  of 
exposing  myself  to  vulgar  abuse  by  way  of  answer, 


AT     GREYSTONES.  229 

— I  don't  mean  from  the  women  in  women's  clothes 
that  were  there,  certainly  not  from  the  lovely  Pau 
lina  Paul,  but  from  one  or  both  of  two  speakers 
who  sat  on  the  platform  in  men's  clothes,  one  of 
whom  spoke  very  abusively  of  St.  Paul.  If  a  tailor 
be  but  the  ninth  part  of  a  man,  according  to  the 
old  saying — I  don't  say  I  believe  it — what  fraction 
of  a  man  must  a  male  human  being  be  who  goes 
about  to  these  Woman's  Eights  meetings,  under 
the  leadership  of  the  strong-minded  Margaret  St. 
Anthony  ?  I  certainly  feel  no  contempt  for  the 
St.  Anthony,  though  I  don't  admire  her  person  or 
her  principles  ;  but  for  such  amphibious  animals 
as  those — neither  men  nor  women — my  feelings  are 
not  altogether  of  the  most  respectful  sort." 

"  But  what  would  you  have  said,  if  you  had 
been  disposed  to  give  them  a  serious  homily  ?  "  in 
quired  the  Professor. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  I  should  have  said 
something  on  this  wise  : 

"  Dearly  beloved  sisters — I  have  heard  many 
things  here  to-day  that  are  true  enough — though 
nothing  new  in  them — and  reasonable  enough,  and 
good  enough,  mixed  up  with  a  great  many  things 
that  are  not  true  at  all,  nor  reasonable,  nor  good. 

"  You  ought  undoubtedly  to  have  a  chance  to 


230  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

be  well  educated  as  women,  equal  to  that  which  the 
men  have  for  being  educated  as  men. 

"  I  agree  with  you  also  in  wishing  there  were  a 
greater  number  of  respectable  and  well-paid  femi 
nine  industries,  for  those  women  who  are  obliged  to 
earn  their  own  livelihood. 

"  There  is  room,  too,  perhaps,  for  some  improve 
ments  in  the  legal  relations  of  women — particu 
larly  to  prevent  drunken  husbands  from  wasting 
property  that  is  necessary  for  the  support  of  their 
families. 

"  As  to  all  these  things,  you  either  already  have 
them,  or  can  have  them,  and  nobody  objects  to  your 
having  them. 

"  But  as  to  the  rest,  the  principles  you  go  upon 
are  all  mere  falsehood  and  delusion,  and  the  notions 
you  propound  as  to  what  you  would  do  and  have 
done,  are  all  nonsense  and  foolishness — springing,  I 
fear,  from  sheer  unwomanly  vanity,  pride,  and 
naughtiness  of  heart ;  and  if  they  were  carried 
fully  out — which  I  thank  God  is  impossible  in  the 
very  constitution  of  things — they  would  entirely 
subvert  God's  ordinations  in  the  world,  and  work 
the  greatest  imaginable  mischief ;  spoil  you  for  be 
ing  good  women,  only  to  make  bad  men  of  you  ; 
destroy  all  true  domestic  life,  and  finally  extinguish 
the  human  race. 


AT      G  KEYSTONES.  231 

"  For  God  has  made  you  to  be  women,  just  as 
he  has  made  men  to  be  men.  Both  are  human 
beings,  and  so  far  alike.  But  there  are  two  sorts 
of  human  beings — human  men  and  human  women 
— different  from  each  other  with  a  difference  run 
ning  through  their  whole  organization,  physical, 
physiological,  mental  and  moral — a  difference  in 
bones,  muscles,  quality  of  predominant  blood,  ner 
vous  system,  and  temperament  ;  in  the  degree  and 
quality  and  combination  of  gifts,  aptitudes,  bents, 
capacities,  affections,  and  dispositions,  of  mind, 
heart,  and  soul.  I  speak,  of  course,  of  men  and 
women  according  to  the  idea  and  type  after  which 
God  made  them  ;  I  speak  of  them  as  they  were 
meant  to  be,  and  for  the  most  part  are,  and  for  the 
most  part  will  continue  to  be,  in  spite  of  the  mis 
guided  attempts  of  such  exceptional  women,  and 
exceptional  men,  as  some  I  see  here  to-day. 

"  This  difference — this  constitutional  and  inex 
tinguishable  difference — is  nothing  derogatory  to 
you.  The  question  about  the  equality  of  the  sexes 
is  as  absurd  as  the  question  whether  the  whiteness 
of  a  lily  is  equal  to  the  fragrance  of  a  rose.  They 
are  things  not  to  be  compared  in  such  a  way.  You 
might  as  well  think  the  difference  of  sexual  organ 
ization  derogatory  to  you,  as 'to  think  so  of  the 


232  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

difference  in  mind,  heart  and  soul.  It  implies  no 
inferiority  in  rank,  dignity,  or^worth.  The  perfec 
tion  of  each  is  in  being  true  to  the  law  of  their 
being — woman  to  the  idea  of  womanhood,  man  to 
the  idea  of  manhood.  In  this  respect  only  can  wo 
man  be  equal  to  man,  or  man  equal  to  woman — 
equal  in  dignity  and  worth  ;  and  this  is  the  only 
equality  that  either  of  us  should  strive  after. 

"  Besides,  man  and  woman  are  made  for  each 
other.  Each  needs  the  other,  and  neither  is  per 
fect  without  the  other.  It  is  only  when  man  and 
woman  are  united  that  the  perfection  of  either  is 
realized.  This  is  possible  only  through  the  opposite 
qualities  of  each.  Electrical  forces  of  the  same 
sort  repel  each  other — there  is  mutual  attraction 
only  between  opposite  poles.  It  is  equally  so  in 
the  spiritual  world.  Make  men  women  or  women 
men,  and  there  can  be  no  true  union.  It  is  only 
womanly  women  and  manly  men  that  can  become 
truly  one. 

"  The  characteristic  qualities  of  woman — when 
true  to  the  type  of  her  being — her  delicacy,  mod 
esty,  reserve,  and  chastity  in  thought  and  feeling, 
word  and  action — her  sweetness,  gentleness,  pa 
tience,  sympathy,'  tenderness,  dependence,  devo 
tion  ;  her  sensibility  to  beauty  and  grace,  order, 


AT      GREYSTONES.  233 

fitness  and  propriety  in  speech,  dress,  behavior, 
every  thing ;  her  intellectual  faculties — more  re 
ceptive  than  productive — thought  resting  more  on 
feeling  than  feeling  on  thought — making  her  more 
susceptible  of  culture  and  refinement  than  apt  for 
grasping  the  abstruse  and  rugged  in  science  and 
practical  life  ;  all  these  are  her  charms  for  man, 
through  which  man  gets  unspeakable  good  to  his 
own  nature  ;  while  man's  harder  texture  in  body 
and  mind — his  strength,  courage,  self-reliance,  his 
grasp,  force,  and  productive  power  in  the  world  of 
thought  and  action,  draw  woman  to  him.  Thus 
each  finds  in  the  other  what  each  one  needs.  The 
womanly  woman  feels  herself  strong  and  brave 
when  she  leans  on  man,  and  man's  manly  courage 
grows  stouter,  and  at  the  same  time  the  rugged 
hardness  of  his  nature  is  softened  by  tender  rever 
ence,  as  with  one  arm  he  supports  and  with  the 
other  protects  the  gentle  one  clinging  to  his  side. 
In  every  thing,  in  short,  in  which  they  are  made 
different,  it  is  that  each  may  find  their  proper  coun 
terpart  in  the  other.  They  are  made  different  in 
order  that  they  may  become  one.  Out  of  this  very 
difference  springs  the  closest  and  richest  union — 
the  union  of  mutual  love,  wherepf  marriage  is  the 
outward  representation.  Only  in  this  true  married 


234  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

union,  and  in  the  home  of  love  that  builds  itself  up 
out  of  it,  can  the  fulness  and  perfection  of  the  in 
dividual  life,  dignity,  and  worth  of  each  be  found 
and  realized. 

"  In  this  union  your  part  and  lot  is  fixed  and 
made  necessary  by  a  wisdom  greater  than  yours. 
God  has  made  you  to  be  wives  and  mothers,  just  as 
He  has  made  men  to  be  husbands  and  fathers.  All 
talk  about  sameness  of  rights  is  absurd.  You  can 
not  have  the  rights  of  husbands  and  fathers,  because 
you  cannot  discharge  the  duties  of  husbands  and 
fathers.  The  husband  is  the  head  of  the  family, 
the  wife  his  help-meet.  This  comes  of  itself  nat 
urally  in  every  true  union  of  love  between  a  manly 
man  and  a  womanly  woman..  It  is  the  dignity  and 
worth  and  happiness  of  both,  notwithstanding  the 
grandiloquent  nonsense  of  your  chief  preacher,  who 
declares  '  the  individual  life  problem  of  a  human 
soul  is  not  solvable,  if  any  one  lives  to  be  the  help 
of  another  ; '  nonsense  which  might  be  pernicious, 
but  that  He  who  said,  c  it  is  not  good  for  man  to  be 
alone,  I  will  make  him  a  help-meet  for  him/  is 
stronger  in  woman's  nature  than  the  nonsense  that 
contradicts  His  wise  plan. 

"  Home,  then,  the  Home  of  Love,  is  the  sa 
cred  sphere  of  woman's  noblest  activities,  her  duties 


AT     GEE  Y  STONES  235 

and  her  joys.  Abroad,  indeed,  in  the  social  circle, 
she  has  her  place,  as  a  woman,  to  please  and  be 
pleased,  to  brighten  and  adorn,  to  do  good  and  to  get 
good.  But  in  the  sacred  intimacies  of  home  is  the 
centre  of  her  life.  While  the  husband  watches 
over,  protects,  provides,  engages  in  the  outward  ac 
tivities  on  which  the  welfare  of  the  family  depends, 
the  duties  of  his  calling  and  those  which  the  public 
safety  and  the  public  weal  impose,  the  loving  wife  and 
mother  presides  within,  with  gracious  and  graceful 
assiduities,  caring  for  the  comfort,  health  and  welfare 
of  all,  nurturing  the  children  in  goodness,  affection, 
reverence,  duty,  truth,  honor,  love  of  country  and  of 
God.  She  is  the  good  genius  of  the  house,  through 
whose  benignant  skill  all  things  get  well  ordered, 
take  a  bright  and  cheerful  look,  and  the  air  of  the 
home  becomes  full  of  peace  and  the  perfume  of 
flowers.  She  has  a  fairy  art,  born  only  of  love,  that 
throws  a  nameless  charm  over  the  homeliest  things 
in  the  loving  eyes  that  see,  and  the  loving  hearts 
that  feel  her  to  be  the  centre  of  the  household  life, 
its  grace  and  graciousness — instinctively  see  and 
feel  it,  even  though  the  faculty  to  analyze  and  re 
flect  upon  it  be  not  unfolded.  i  Her  children  rise  up 
and  call  her  blessed,  and  her  husband  he  praiseth 
her.'  Thus  in  loving  and  being  loved,  she  finds  the 
fulness  of  her  life. 


236  DOCTOK     OLDHAM 

"  This  is  home  as  I  find  it ;  for  there  is  a  true 
woman  and  a  loving  wife  and  mother  in  my  home. 

"  Such  is  woman's  noble  and  blessed  destination 
to  bring  man  and  herself  back  to  Eden  again. 

"  But  you  would  spoil  it  all  with  your  foolish 
unwomanly  notions.  You  know  not  what  mischief 
you  are  about.  You  would  break  out  from  home, 
neglect  your  proper  work  in  life — which  you  alone 
can  do — to  engage  in  what  is  not  your  work,  and 
what  you  cannot  do.  You  clamor  for  Woman's 
Eights,  forgetting  that  you  enjoy  all  the  most  sa 
cred  rights  you  can  have — those  that  spring  from 
sacred  duties — the  right  to  be  good  wives  and 
mothers.  You  renounce  the  true  rights  of  woman, 
to  grasp  at  those  you  were  not  made  for  and  cannot 
have.  What  you  really  clamor  for  is  the  right  to 
make  men  of  yourselves.  But  you  are  no  more 
fitted  for  the  social,  civil,  and  public  functions  of 
men  than  you  are  for  those  of  husbands  and  fathers  ; 
and  the  thought  of  your  attempting  the  one,  is 
scarcely  less  unnatural  and  monstrous,  than  that 
of  the  other  ;  certainly  it  is  equally  contrary  to  the 
constitution  of  your  nature,  and  to  Grod's  order  of 
things  therein  established ;  it  would  only  work 
mischief  and  ruin  to  yourselves,  to  the  common 
wealth,  and  to  society  in  all  its  interests  and  rela 
tions. 


AT     GREYSTONES.  237 

"  You  demand  a  change  in  the  legal  relations 
of  husband  and  wife.  Because  there  are  some  bad 
husbands,  as  well  as  bad  wives,  you  would  have 
laws  made,  which,  I  am  sure,  would  tend  to  the 
great  increase  of  both.  Bad  husbands  are  the  ex 
ceptions.  The  laws  go — as  they  should  do — upon 
this  supposition.  You  demand  that  they  shall  go 
upon  the  assumption  of  the  contrary.  Not  only 
so,  but  you  would  subvert  the  very  principle  of  our 
laws.  They  go  upon  the  principle  that  marriage 
is  a  sacred  union  of  mind,  soul  and  heart,  as  well 
as  of  bodies — a  union  with  one  head,  and  that  the 
man — in  which  there  can  of  right  be  no  conflicting 
interests.  This  principle  is  grounded  in  the  ordi 
nation  of  God  as  expressed  in  the  constitution  of 
man's  and  woman's  nature,  recognized  by  reason, 
and  plainly  taught  in  the  Christian  religion.  You 
would  have  them  go  upon  the  principle  that  mar 
riage  is  a  contract  of  selfish  convenience — a  two- 
headed  partnership,  in  which  the  separate  interests 
of  the  parties,  or  rather  your  separate  interests, 
which  are  all  you  seem  to  care  for,  shall  be  jeal 
ously  secured. 

"  What  would  be  the  effect  ?  Why,  as  far 
as  it  had  any,  it  would  give  occasion,  and  scope, 
and  temptation  to  a  thousand-fold  more  violations 


DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

of  sacred  duty,  and  more  domestic  mischiefs  and 
miseries  than  it  would  prevent. 

"  You  insist  on  the  right  of  engaging  in  all 
the  industrial  and  professional  callings  and  employ 
ments  of  men — or  such  of  them  as  you  may  choose. 
'  Well,  I  don't  know  as  any  thing  stands  in 
the  way  of  this  but  public  opinion — except,  in  the 
matter  of  becoming  public  ministers  of  religion, 
there  are  some  remarkable  words  of  St.  Paul,  com 
monly  understood  as  speaking  by  Divine  direction, 
which  bear  rather  hard  upon  the  self-ordained  Kev- 
erend  Mrs.  Black  Brown.     But  she  has  braved  St. 
Paul  and  public  opinion  both.     You  can  all  do  the 
same.     Perhaps  you  can  change  the  public  opinion. 
I  rather  think  not.     But  you  can  brave  it.     You 
can  enter  on  any  career  of  activity  now  considered 
as  exclusively  within  man's   proper  sphere — for  I 
take  it,  of  course,  it  is  only  in  regard  to  such  that 
you  have  any  quarrel  with  public   opinion.     But 
with  what  result  ?      You  cannot  succeed.      You 
could  not  do  the  work  in  competition  with  man,  if 
all  the  opinion  in  the  world  gave  you  an  equal 
chance.     The  world  has  a  way  of  its  own  in  such 
things.     It  will  employ  and  pay  those  who  do  the 
world's  work  best.     Perhaps  you  might  make  the 
men  abstain  from  competition,  or  stay  at  home  and 


AT     GREYS  TONES.  239 

take  care  of  the  house  and  nurse  babies,  to  give 
you  a  clear  field.  This  is  doubtful.  The  great 
odds  are  you  would  unsex  yourselves  to  little  pur 
pose — spoil  yourselves  for  being  good  women  only 
to  make  unsuccessful  men  of  yourselves. 

"  But  to  cap  the  climax  of  your  foolishness, 
you  insist  upon  women  having  the  same  political 
rights  as  men.  Not  contented  with  being  repre 
sented  at  the  polls  by  your  fathers,  brothers,  hus 
bands,  and  all  other  men  that  vote,  you  insist  on 
going  there  in  person,  as  the  sacred  right  of  wo 
man,  short  of  which  nothing  will  content  you  ; 
though  if  suffrage  were  a  sacred  right,  which  it  is 
not,  there  are  thousands  of  young  women  and  girls 
under  twenty-one,  equally  capable  of  voting  as  you 
are,  who  might  protest  against  being  represented  at 
the  polls  by  you,  and  challenge  the  equal  right  of 
going  there  with  you  to  cast  their  vote* .  But  to 
leave  them  out  of  view — you  demand  that  the 
Constitution  of  the  State  shall  be  so  altered  as  to 
give  you  the  same  right  of  suffrage  as  the  men  en 
joy.  You  demand  also  the  same  right  to  hold  po 
litical  offices,  and  discharge  the  public  functions  of 
the  State.  This  is  what  you  ask  for  in  the  memo 
rial  to  the  Legislature,  you  have  passed  about  for 
signatures  here  to-day. 


240  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

"  Suppose  you  gain  your  end  ? 

"What  then? 

"  Either  :  the  women  would  not  avail  them 
selves  of  their  new  rights — unless  a  few  such  ex 
ceptional  women  as  some  here  now  ;  and  so  nothing 
or  but  little  would  come  of  it. 

"  Or,  else  :  they  would — which  is  what  you  de 
sire  and  contemplate. 

"  Suppose,  then,  all  the  women  in  the  land  to 
enter  into  politics,  seek  public  offices,  take  sides  in 
party  conflicts,  and  throng  the  polls  with  the  men. 

"  I  pass  over  the  scenes  in  the  legislative  halls, 
and  in  the  courts,  which  the  reporters  for  the  press 
might  have  to  portray  ;  the  nurseries  added  to  the 
committee-rooms  of  the  legislative  halls  and  jury 
rooms  of  the  courts  ;  and  the  ludicrous  interruptions 
of  public  business  and  the  course  of  justice,  through 
mistaken  reckoning  of  time  or  premature  effects  of 
fatigue  and  public  cares — all  which  are  possibilities 
in  the  case  of  women.  I  pass  over  the  spectacles 
likely  to  be  presented  at  the  polls — particularly  in 
the  great  towns  where  now  the  majority  of  the  votes 
are  cast,  especially  in  times  when  party  feeling  runs 
high,  as  it  does  in  nearly  all  elections  now — pure 
and  gentle  and  delicate  women — if  such  could  be 
supposed  to  go  there,  and  that  is  what  you  would 


AT     GREYS  TONES.  241 

have  them  do— jostled  and  hustled  among  rival 
crowds  of  brutal  and  ruffianly  men,  augmented  by 
crowds  of  rival  women  of  their  own  social  standing 
and  degree.  I  pass  over  also  the  possible  neglect 
of  the  special  duties  of  wives  and  mothers,  and  the 
moral  injury  to  the  children,  the  household  discom 
forts  and  domestic  disunion  that  might  thence  en 
sue.  I  pass  over  all  this,  and  lay  no  stress  upon 
it ;  for  I  know  all  that  can  be  said  in  reply.  I  put 
it  out  of  sight,  because  there  is  a  deeper  and  more 
thoughtful  view  I  would  have  you  take. 

"  When  you  enter  into  politics  and  public  life, 
you  step  out  of  your  proper  sphere,  and  you  cannot 
do  this  without  mischief  to  yourselves,  to  man,  and  to 
the  interests  of  the  State.  Woman's  relation  to  the 
State  is  through  the  family  and  the  society  of  pri 
vate  life.  Here  is  the  sphere  in  which  she  is  to 
serve  her  country.  Here  lies  her  influence — and 
influence  is  woman's  true  power — an  influence 
graceful  and  gracious,  beautiful  and  salutary — im 
buing  the  minds  of  children  with  lofty  and  gener 
ous  sentiments,  honor,  justice  and  love  of  country, 
and  keeping  such  sentiments  alive  and  warm  in  the 
hearts  of  husbands,  fathers,  brothers,  and  all  within 
her  social  circle — humanizing,  softening,  refining 
and  ennobling  the  manners,  tempers,  and  whole  so 
il 


242  DOCTOR    OLD  II  AM 

cial  life  of  man — and  especially  mediating  between 
conflicting  elements,  smoothing  the  asperities  and 
allaying  the  animosities  of  party  spirit  among  men 
whose  interests  or  sense  of  public  duty  put  them  in 
opposition  to  each  other.  She  has  this  influence 
because  she  is  not  mixed  up  with  the  strife  of  par 
ties.  The  moment  she  becomes  so,  it  is  gone. 
Men  no  longer  sheathe  the  sword  in  her  presence. 
She  loses  her  peculiar  privilege  as  a  woman — to  be 
a  reconciling  bond.  Besides  the  terrible  risk  of  de 
struction  to  domestic  peace  and  union,  that  would 
ensue  from  difference  of  political  opinions  between 
husbands  and  wives,  fathers  and  daughters,  brothers 
and  sisters — woman's  outward  activity  in  the  pub 
lic  sphere  would  only  aggravate  the  strife  of  par 
ties.  Her  peculiar  nature  exposes  her  to  the  worst 
influences  of  politics.  The  predominance  of  feel 
ing  in  her  constitution,  makes  her  apt  to  be  carried 
away  by  popular  excitement,  and  under  its  impul 
ses  to  become  less  scrupulous,  more  passionate  and 
more  unjust  than  men — a  truth  history  has  given 
more  than  one  memorable  proof  of. 

"Thus  by  engaging  actively  in  politics  and 
public  life,  you  desert  the  only  sphere  in  which  you 
can  serve  your  country,  to  enter  into  one  where  you 
are  not  needed,  can  do  no  good,  and  will  surely 


AT     GREYSTONES.  243 

work  harm.  You  violate  the  great  moral  order  of 
things,  established  in  your  very  nature  and  rela 
tions  ;  and  this  inevitably  involves  the  ruin  of  your 
proper  character  as  women,  and  thereby  the  ruin 
of  the  dearest  interests  of  society  and  of  the  hu 
man  race. 

"  Away  from  the  sacred  sphere  of  home,  eagerly 
mixing  in  politics  and  public  life,  competing  with 
the  men  in  all  careers,  challenging  and  clutching 
your  rights  at  every  turn — how  could  you  preserve 
the  gentleness,  tenderness,  refinement,  delicacy,  re 
serve,  purity,  modesty — in  a  word,  the  chastity  (by 
which  I  mean  far  more  than  is  ordinarily  meant) 
which  constitutes  the  glory  and  charm  of  woman 
hood — that  which  all  men,  the  rudest  and  coars 
est  respect  and  show  their  feeling  of,  when,  in 
the  presence  of  a  true  woman,  violence  and  ribaldry 
are  hushed — that  which  in  natures  of  better  mould 
and  finer  culture  begets  the  sentiments  of  reverence 
and  chivalric  devotion — that  which  even  the  worst 
of  men  demand  in  their  sisters  and  their  wives  ? 
Your  womanhood  gone,  all  is  gone — gone  man's 
reverence  for  woman,  to  the  great  detriment  of  the 
best  and  noblest  parts  of  man's  nature — and  gone 
forever  from  you  all  that  draws  man  to  you  now  in 
true  manly  love.  Man  wants  a  woman  for  his  wife, 


244  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

a  woman  in  his  home;  and  not  another  man.  He 
will  not  marry  you,  when  you  become  what  your 
notions  would  inevitably  make  you.  And  without 
marriage,  the  dissolution  of  society  and  the  extinc 
tion  of  the  human  race  is  sure.  The  brute  instinct 
will  suffice  for  brutes,  but  not  for  the  continuance 
of  the  human  race,  and  if  it  could  it  would  be  the 
continuance  of  a  species  not  worth  continuance. 

"  This  is  what  would  come  of  your  notions,  if 
carried  fully  out  in  universal  practice. 

"  But  I  have  no  fears.  God  in  the  heart  of 
womanhood  has  provided  a  security  for  His  Divine 
order  of  things,  against  such  foolish  and  pernicious 
notions.  Exceptional  women  may  adopt  and  spread 
them  all  they  can.  Upon  the  great  mass  of  women 
you  will  produce  not  the  slightest  impression.  You 
may  temporarily  mislead  a  few  true  women.  But 
the  first  touch  of  honest  love  for  a  right  manly  man, 
will  put  all  this  nonsense  out  of.  their  heads.  The 
lovely  Paulina  Paul  is,  I  think,  a  true  woman  at 
heart.  She  is  young,  and  a  little  bewildered  by 
your  sophistries  now,  but  the  time  of  her  awaken 
ing  will  come  ;  and  then,  as  a  happy  wife  and 
mother,  I  am  sure  she  will  be  ashamed  to  remember 


A  T     GREYS  TONES.  245 

her  orations  here  to-day.  The  St.  Anthony  has  no 
vocation  for  love  and  marriage.  Her  case  is  hope 
less.  But  the  number  of  such  is  small,  and  never 
will  he  large.  It  would  stand  in  the  way  of  God's 
plans  for  the  world  if  it  were  otherwise." 

"  There,  Professor  Clare,  that  is  what  I  might 
have  said,  if  I  had  said  any  thing." 

"  I  almost  wish  you  had  said  it/'  replied  the 
Professor. 

"  I  am  glad  he  did  not/'  said  Mrs.  Oldham, 
"  though  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  the  matter  of 
it.  Yet  I  am  scandalized  "by  the  way  you  put  some 
things,  and  the  expressions  you  use." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  hut  it 
can  hardly  he  well  avoided,  and  I  trust  there  is 
nothing  improper  in  them." 

"  But,  Professor,  I  did  preach  the  substance  of 
this  discourse  in  church  last  Sunday  evening  ;  and 
it  happened  the  next  day  that  I  was  giving  an  ac 
count  of  it  at  Pelham's,  when  a  lady  on  a  visit 
there  said,  with  an  air  of  surprise  and  grave  re 
buke  : 

"  c  Did  you  preach  this  on  the  Sabbath  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,  madam/  I  replied,  '  on  Sunday  evening, 
and  I  took  for  my  text  the  words  of  St.  Paul  (Ephe- 


246  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

sians  v.  22)  :  Wives !  submit  yourselves  unto  your 
oivn  husbands,  as  unto  the  Lord  ;  for  the  husband 
is  the  head  of  the  ivifc,  even  as  Christ  is  the  Head 
of  the  Church.  .  .  Therefore  as  the  Church  is 
subject  unto  Christ,  so  let  the  ivives  be  to  their  oivn 
husbands  in  every  thing' 

:i  '  Well/  said  she,  '  Paul  says  lie  sometimes 
spoke  like  a  fool,  and  I  think  he  did  when  he  said 
that/ 

"  I  smiled  inwardly  at  the  good  lady's  sort  of 
reverence,  which  could  speak  thus  of  St.  Paul,  and 
be  shocked  at  my  desecration  of  the  Lord's  day,  or 
Sabbath,  as  she  called  it  ;  but  did  not  tell  her  my 
thoughts.  She  said  she  had  many  sympathies  with 
the  Woman's  Eights  women.  I  said  I  perceived  it, 
though  I  was  not  aware  of  it  before,  and  could  only 
be  sorry  that  my  text  and  sermon,  as  well  as  the 
day  I  took  to  preach  it,  seemed  displeasing  to  her 
taste." 


AT     GREYSTONES.  247 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 


ON  DEE-DEEING. 


"  I  SEE,  husband,  that  your  Iriend,  Mr.  Langdon. 
has  been  made  a  D.  D." 

"  Yes,  poor  fellow,  I  was  writing  to  him  a  few 
days  ago,  and  said  in  a  postscript  :  '  So  you  have 
got   the   handle   to   your    name.      Are    you    not 
ashamed  ?  '     I  had  a  letter  from  him  this  morning, 
in  which  he  asks  what  he  has  to  be  ashamed  of.     I 
wrote  immediately  in  reply.     But  the  letter  has  not 
gone  yet.     Would  you  like  to  hear  it  ?  " 
Mrs.  Oldham  said  she  would. 
"  It  is  in  my  drawer,"  said  the  Doctor,  turning 
to  open  it. 

Mrs.  Oldham  was  at  the  moment  putting  away 
some  things  in  her  drawer,  having  drawn  it  fully 
out — pulling,  of  course,  the  Doctor's  drawer  under 
the  table  out  of  his  reach. 

"  Ah,  my  drawer  gone  !     But  take  your  time, 


248 


DOC T OB     OLDHAM 


my  dear  ;  you  wouldn't  sleep  well  if  you  left  any 
of  your  knick-knacks  out  of  place  or  the  least  awry. 
I  can  wait.     A  good  thing  this  make  of  our  draw 
ers—a  good  discipline.     John  Wesley  tells  us  that 
while  he  was  among  the   Moravians,  his  life  was  so 
directed  by  rule,  that  if  he  was  engaged  in  writing 
a  letter  when  the  bell  struck,  he  was  required  to 
leave  off  immediately,  without  stopping   to  com 
plete  an  unfinished  word.     The  object  of  the  rule 
— they  told-  him — was  to  mortify  the   '  lust  of  fin 
ishing/     That  is  a  lust   that  does  not  need  any 
mortifying  in  me,  or  in  Lilly  either — unless  when 
she  gets  hold  of  a  new  book  of  Miss   Yonge's,  or 
some  other  charming  story.     But  it  is  a  lust  that 
is  very  strong  in  you,  and  perhaps  I  might  help  to 
a  little  salutary  mortification  of  it,  by  insisting,  on 
your  shutting  your  drawer  the  instant  I  want  to 
open  mine.     But  then  I  should  lose  the  chance  of 
exercising  my  own  patience,  and  might  try  yours, 
which  needs  no  trial,  besides  interfering  with  your 
bump  of  order,  which  I  have  a  great  respect  for." 

"  Well,  husband,  my  lust  of  finishing  is  not  so 
strong  but  I  can  lay  aside  the  most  fascinating- 
book,  when  I  have  any  thing  else  to  do — as  I  have 
just  done  with  Adam  Bede,  in  order  to  write  a  let 
ter  to  my  mother." 


AT     GEEYSTONES.  249 

"  That  is  true,  wife,  I  am  bound  to  con 
fess,  that  if  your  lust  of  finishing  is  very  strong, 
your  sense  of  duty  is  stronger,  and  I  should  not 
ne,ed  to  interfere  in  any  case  where  duty  was  con 
cerned." 

"  I  have  finished  now,"  said  she,  "  and  you 
can  have  your  drawer.  So  let  me  hear  your  let 
ter." 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  the  Doctor,  taking  it  out  and 
beginning  to  read  : 

"  MY  DEAR  LANGDON, 

"  Do  you  ask  what  you  have  to  be  ashamed  of? 
Why,  of  being  made  a  D.  D.,  of  course. 

"  You  have  fallen  from  an  eminence.  You 
have  dropped  out  of  the  select  and  distinguished 
circle  of  the  un- dee -deed,  into  the  great  titled  herd. 
You  have  lost  an  honorable  and  enviable  distinc 
tion. 

"  Nor  this  alone  ;  you  are  now  under  the  neces 
sity  of  submitting  to  be  impaled  on  one  or  the  other 
of  the  sharp  horns  of  a  piercing  dilemma. 

"For  know,  0  my  unhappy  friend,  that  in  re 
gard  to  this    matter  of  dee-dee-ness,  or   state  of 
being  dee-deed,  or  un-dee-deed,  there  are  four  pos 
sible  predicaments.     There  are  : 
11* 


250  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

1.  The  deservedly,  and) 

o    mi.  «        f  un-dee-deed. 

2.  The  undeservedly      ) 

3.  The  deservedly,  and) 

A    rn-u         i  n        f  dee-deed. 

4.  The  undeservedly      )  ,  . 

"  Now,  when  you  were  in  the  un-dee-deed  state 
— fortunate  man  if  you  had  known  your  good  for 
tune — no  man  could  reasonably  ask  you  if  you  were 
not  ashamed.  For  you  belonged  either  to  the  first 
or  to  the  second  class.  If  to  the  former,  it  was  no 
cause  of  shame  that  you  had  not  a  title  you  did  not 
deserve  to  have — rather  the  shame  would  have  been 
in  having  it.  If  to  the  latter,  it  was  surely  no  cause 
for  shame  to  you,  whatever  it  might  be  to  the  un- 
discerning  and  ill-judging  colleges  that  neglected 
to  adorn  your  just  desert.  And  either  way,  whether 
deservedly  or  undeservedly  un-dee-deed,  nobody 
could,  without  ridiculous  absurdity,  ask  you  if  you 
were  not  ashamed  of  being  a  D.  D.,  when  you  were 
not  one.  One  might  as  well  ask  if  you  are  not 
ashamed  of  being  a  rhinoceros,  when  he  knows,  and 
you  know,  and  all  the  world  knows  you  are  not  a 
rhinoceros. 

"  Nor,  for  the  same  reasons,  had  you  any  cause 
to  be  ashamed  on  account  of  the  company  you  were 
in — the  honorable  fraternity  of  the  un-dee-ded  ;  for 
they,  like  you,  had  no  cause  to  blush  for  themselves. 


AT     GREYSTONES.  251 

So  therefore  there  was  absolutely  no  ground  for  the 
question. 

"  But  now  you  have  not  only  lost  the  simple 
manly  dignity  of  an  untitled  name,  and  fallen  from 
the  select  circle  of  the  un-dee-deed,  into  the  great 
and  ever-increasing  herd  of  clerical  D.  D/s,  likely 
to  be  augmented  by  a  host  of  unclerical  D.  D/s,  led 
on  by  my  friend,  the  clever  and  eloquent  lay- 
preacher  just  decorated  at  Cambridge,  but,  as  I 
said,  you  are  liable  to  be  pierced  by  one  or  the  other 
horn  of  a  cruel  dilemma. 

"  For,  either  you  are  or  you  are  not  possessed 
of  the  intrinsic  and  essential  quality  of  true  dee- 
dee-ness — a  profound  knowledge  of  theology,  and 
an  aptitude  to  teach  it,  withal.  If  you  are,  you 
have  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  the  great  company 
of  mere  titular  D.  D/s  you  have  fallen  into  ;  and 
if  you  are  not,  you  are  yourself  a  mere  titular  D.  D., 
and  have  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  for  being 
a  sign  without  the  thing  signified — a  doctor's  door- 
plate  with  no  doctor  within — in  short,  a  pretence 
and  a  sham  ;  and  so,  either  way,  you  have  reason 
for  being  ashamed.  But  I  am  not  of  the  spirit  of 
the  man  who,  in  a  time  of  some  quite  wide-spread 
disaster,  exclaimed  :  '  Well,  wife,  thank  God  our 


252  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

neighbors  are  as  bad  off  as  ourselves/     On  the  con 
trary,  I  subscribe  myself, 

"  With  hearty  condolence, 

i  i  Your  sympathizing  friend, 

"  OLDHAM." 

"  But,  husband,  you  don't  mean  that  your 
friend  Langdon  is  not  deserving  of  his  title  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear,  he  is  an  abler  man,  and  a  better 
theologian,  than  nine- tenths  of  those  that  have  it. 
But  our  whole  system  of  academic  degrees  is  an 
absurd  farce.  The  degrees  in  the  arts  are  conferred 
in  course  on  young  men,  four-fifths  of  whom  would 
find  it  hard  to  stand  a  strict  examination  upon  the 
latinity  of  their  diplomas.  And  as  to  the  honorary 
degrees,  they  are  no  honor  at  all.  Popular  city 
preachers,  or  ministers  of  important  parishes,  are 
made  D.  D/s,  who  could  not,  for  their  lives,  give  a 
clear  and  accurate  statement  of  the  doctrines  and 
logical  connection  of  the  doctrines  of  a  single  theo 
logical  system,  still  less  a  just,  comparative  and 
critical  exposition  of  the  differences  and  agreements 
of  the  different  systems,  and,  least  of  all,  of  the 
principles  that  underlie  and  determine  their  sys 
tematic  relations  ;  while  LL.  D/s  light  on  the  sur 
prised  heads  of  men  who  know  no  more  of  Civil,  or 


AT     GREYSTONES.  253 

of  Canon  law,  or  of  the  difference  between  them, 
than  Field  Marshal  Wellington  and  Marshal  Blu- 
cher  ell-ell-deed  at  Oxford,  or  General  Jackson  and 
General  Taylor  ell-ell-deed  by  our  own  University 
of  Cambridge/' 

"  What  are  these  degrees  worth,  then,  hus 
band  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all,  my  dear,  and  never  will  be, 
until  they  are  given  only  when  well-earned." 


254  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

TWEEDLEDUM   AND   TWEEDLEDEE. 

"  AH,  my  son/7  said  the  Doctor  one  day,  talking 
to  Phil,  "  get  the  habit  of  always  discerning  the 
distinct  in  the  inseparable.  There  are  some  per 
sons  that  are  forever  confounding  them.  They  can 
not  distinguish  between  things  that  always  go  to 
gether,  especially  if  they  are  at  all  blended  or  lie 
very  close  to  each  other." 

"  But  there  is  another  class  of  persons,"  said 
Phil,  "  that  are  forever  puzzling  a  plain  question, 
or  avoiding  the  force  of  a  just  argument,  by  dis 
tinctions  without  a  difference — mere  tweedledum 
and  tweedledee." 

"  Ah,  Phil,  rail  not  at  the  distinction  between 
tweedledum  and  tweedledee — for  there  is  a  real 
difference  between  them,  and  often  a  momentous 


AT     GREYSTONES.  255 

difference.  Beware  how  you  think  contemptuously 
of  it.  No  matter  how  slight  it  may  seem,  it  may 
be  of  infinite  consequence.  The  angle  where  two 
straight  lines  meet,  may  be  infmitesimally  small,  but 
produce  the  lines  and  they  become  heaven-wide 
apart.  It  is  a  difference  on  which  the  dearest  in 
terests  of  truth  and  human  welfare  may  turn.  It 
has  often  convulsed  the  world  of  thought  and  of 
action.  The  profoundest  agitations — religious  and 
political — which  history  records,  have  sprung  from 
it.  Humanity  is  not  thus  moved  for  nothing.  I 
have  a  great  respect  for  the  difference  between 
tweedledum  and  tweedledee. 

"  But  I  have  no  respect  for  the  difference  be 
tween  tweedledum  and  tweedledum  ;  and  that  is  a 
distinction  some  persons — I  grant  you,  Phil — lay 
great  stress  upon,  and  are  always  parading,  to  the 
great  detriment  of  all  rational  argumentation." 

"  They  have  a  notion  they  evince  superior  logi 
cal  acuteness,"  said  Phil. 

"  Logic,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  is  a  very  good 
thing  for  a  good  thinker,  but  a  very  bad  thing  for 
one  who  is  not.  There's  Mr.  Grim — he  is  intensely 
logical,  but  his  logic  only  serves  to  illustrate  the 
poorness  of  his  thought.  A  man  must  be  able  at 
times  to  get  above  his  logic,  or  below  it — which- 


256  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

ever  you  choose — in  order  to  use  it  to  any  very  good 
purpose." 

"  But  logic  is  thinking,  is  it  not  ?  "  said  Phil. 

"  Yes/'  replied  the  Doctor,  "but  not  all  thinking. 
There  is  other  thinking  besides  logical.  There  is 
thinking — and  of  the  highest  sort — which  is  the 
very  reverse  of  the  logical,  which  sees  and  seizes  by 
immediate  intuition,  without  any  process  of  deduc 
tion,  great  truths,  that  logic  never  gives — all  the 
primary  principles  of  mathematics,  metaphysics, 
and  morals — truths  that  are  true  because  they  are 
true,  and  not  because  something  else  is  true  from 
which  their  truth  flows — truths  of  the  highest  im 
portance  in  themselves,  and  indispensable  also  for 
the  uses  of  logic. 

"  Logic,  my  son,  is  of  great  use  to  those  who 
have  good  sense  and  discretion,  and  know  how  to 
use  it  at  proper  times  and  in  a  proper  way.  But  I 
reckon  among  the  greatest  social  pests,  those  per 
sons  who  are  for  having  an  argument  on  every  thing 
that  comes  up,  though  it  be  a  matter  of  fact  as 
palpable  as  the  nose  on  your  face  ;  who  are  not 
content  to  believe  that  a  horse  has  four  legs,  with 
out  a  syllogism  running  round  in  an  edifying  circle 
to  prove  it :  quadrupeds  have  four  legs  ;  horses  are 
quadrupeds  ;  therefore  horses  have  four  legs  ;  and 


AT      GREYSTONES.  257 

whose  arguments,  even  if  not  circular,  and  though 
their  premises  and  conclusions  may  all  be  true,  yet 
half  the  time  have  no  more  logical  connection — or 
Jiang-together-ness,  as  the  Germans  call  it — than  if 
I  should  say  :  Adam  was  the  first  man  ;  Methusa- 
leh  was  the  oldest  man  ;  therefore  St.  Paul  was 
shipwrecked. 

"  You  may  find  your  familiarity  with  logic  of 
great  advantage  at  the  bar,  if  you  use  it  rightly, 
especially  in  a  dialectical  way  as  a  critical  test  of 
the  value  of  the  arguments  you  oppose.  But  be 
ware  of  using  its  technical  forms  or  peculiar  terms, 
unless  they  be  such  as  usage  has  made  generally 
familiar  and  intelligible.  Show  the  superiority  of 
your  logical  training,  by  the  lucid  order  and  method 
of  your  own  reasoning,  and  by  the  quickness  with 
which  you  detect,  and  the  clearness  with  which  you 
expose  the  sophistry  of  others — and  all  in  the  sim 
ple  ordinary  good  English,  which  men  of  true  cul 
ture  find  sufficient  for  most  purposes  of  private  or 
of  public  speech/' 


258  DOCTOE     OLDHAM 


CHAPTEK    XXV. 

SOME  OF  THE   DOCTOR'S  NOTIONS   ABOUT   CONVERSATION — HIS  PRACTICE 
IS  ANOTHER  QUESTION. 

"  WHAT  have  you  been  writing  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Old- 
ham,  one  evening,  as  the  Doctor  shut  his  portfolio, 
and  was  putting  it  in  his  drawer. 

"  A  slight  sketch,  or  rather  some  hints  for  an 
essay/'  he  replied. 

"  On  what,  husband  ?  " 

"  On  Conversation." 

"  Kead  it,  will  you  ?  "  said  she. 

The  Doctor  read  as  follows  : 

"  There  goes  great  tact  to  the  keeping  up  of 
agreeable  conversation,  in  a  small  social  circle.  The 
talk  should  be  general.  It  is  death  to  all  quiet, 
rational  enjoyment,  to  have  the  conversation  broken 
up  into  two  or  three  separate  dialogues  on  different 


AT     GREY  STONES.       %  259 

subjects,  crossing  and  jostling  each  other,  and  fill 
ing  the  room  with  a  confusion  of  sounds.  There 
should  be  but  one  topic  at  a  time,  and  the  transi 
tions  easy  and  natural — the  ball  going  round  and 
round,  so  that  each  one  that  chooses,  may  hit  it  in 
turn,  each  hitting  it  in  the  right  direction,  to  keep 
it  going  as  long  as  it  is  agreeable.  It  is  a  great 
nuisance  to  have  it  struck  wrongly — by  feeble  dabs, 
bringing  it  to  the  ground,  when  it  should  have  been 
kept  going  on,  or  by  great  brute  knocks,  sending  it 
off  at  a  tangent,  where  nobody  cares  to  go. 

"  Among  the  most  disagreeable  persons  in  so 
ciety,  is  your  man  of  inexorable  facts — nothing  but 
facts — Wh0  is  always  lying  in  wait  to  spring  like  a 
tiger  from  a  jungle,  or  a  catamount  from  a  tree, 
upon  any  trifling  and  altogether  immaterial  inaccu 
racy  of  fact,  that  may  happen  to  be  referred  to  in 
passing,  and  pull  the  whole  conversation  to  the 
ground,  or  drag  it  away  into  some  thorny  thicket 
of  irrelevant  debate.  I  have  often  been  present 
where  the  conversation  was  flowing  on  in  a  full, 
deep,  rich  stream  of  mingled  wit  and  wisdom, 
thought  and  argument,  sense  and  sentiment — all 
aglow  with  the  warmth  of  imagination  and  the 
brightness  of  fancy— when  a  slight  momentary 
glance,  in  the  merest  passing,  way,  at  some  fact 


260  DOCTOR     O  L  D  II  A  M 

true  enough  for  all  the  purpose  of  the  allusion, 
would  bring  up  the  inexorable  fact-man,  contradict 
ing  or  putting  right  his  unhappy  victim,  with  an 
air  as  if  the  least  want  of  exactitude  or  complete- 
necs  of  statement  about  the  matter  of  fact,  de 
stroyed  all  the  force  of  reasoning,  all  justness  of 
thought,  or  sacredness  of  sentiment — though  it 
really  did  not  come  within  a  hundred  miles  of  doing 
so.  To  make  a  slip  of  the  tongue,  and  speak  of 
the  Poor  Widow's  three  mites,  would  spoil  for  him 
the  effect  of  the  most  touching  discourse  on  the 
beauty  of  self-sacrificing  beneficence.  It  will  not 
do  for  you  to  talk  to  him.  about  the  baseness  of 
treachery,  if  you  should  happen  to  make  a  mistake 
as  to  the  value  of  the  thirty  pieces  of  silver  Judas 
Iscariot  sold  his  Lord  for  ;  and  he  would  instantly 
become  insensible  to  the  horrors  of  St.  Bartholo 
mew's,  if  you  should  fall  into  an  error  as  to  the 
precise  day  of  the  month  on  which  the  massacre  of 
the  Huguenots  began. 

"Another  social  pest  is  your  inveterate  pun 
ster,  without  the  gift  of  knowing  how  to  use  his  tal 
ent.  An  occasional  pun,  a  good  sparkling  one, 
which  does  not  disturb  the  current  of  discourse,  or 
when  there  is  no  particular  current  to  be  disturbed, 
is  a  very  pleasant  thing.  But  who  wants  to  have 


AT     GREYSTONES.  261 

an  interesting  conversation  wrested  violently  out  of 
its  course  by  a  ruthless  pun — no  matter  how  bright 
and  good  in  itself.  There's  Oglethorpe — he  is  a 
Philadelphian — whatever  the  subject  or  the  mood 
of  the  company  may  be — he  is  perpetually  letting 
off  a  volley  of  puns,  without  the  least  grace  of  dis 
cretion,  some  of  them  very  poor,  many  of  them  ex 
ecrable,  and  scarcely  one  of  them  that  does  not  un 
pleasantly  interfere  with  the  course  of  the  conver 
sation. 

"  But  there  are  few  things  more  wasted  and  out  of 
place,  than  the  bright-minded  man  in  the  company 
of  the  dull ;  a  genial,  juiceful  man,  simple,  cordial 
and  kindly,  playful  and  gleesome,  full  of  fancy  and 
imagination,  wit,  humor,  fun  and  pathos,  mingled 
and  blended,  bubbling  up  and  running  over  in  a 
bright  flowing  stream  of  grand  and  rich  thought, 
noble  and  sweet  sentiment,  beautiful  images,  lively 
description,  sparkling  traits — all  this  wealth  of 
spiritual  riches  thrown  away  upon  the  green,  stag 
nant  dulness  of  the  minds  and  hearts  around  him, 
or  worse  than  thrown  away  among  swine  that  tram 
ple  the  pearls,  and  turn  to  rend  the  unsuspicious 
scatterer — envious  mediocrities,  imputing  all  to  van 
ity,  and  watching  for  something  to  cavil  or  to  sneer 
at  ;  or  serious  '  professors  of  religion/  setting  him 


262  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

down  for  a  light-minded  trifler,  altogether  wanting 
in  e  vital  piety ' ;  or  conventional  worldly  dullards, 
polished  inanities,  capable  themselves  of  nothing 
but  soft  insipidities,  or  pompous  platitudes,  stand 
ing  much  upon  dignity,  and  superciliously  lifting 
their  eyebrows,  as  much  as  to  say,  c  an  eccentric, 
improper  person/ 

"  There  is  another  class  of  men,  who  are  a  great 
social  nuisance — your  formalists,  of  whom  my  Lord 
Bacon  somewhere  says  something  to  this  effect — 
c  that  it  is  a  ridiculous  thing  and  fit  for  satire,  to 
see  what  shifts  and  contrivances  these  formalists 
have,  what  prospectives  to  make  superficies,  that 
hath  only  length  and  breadth,  appear  a  solid,  that 
hath  also  depth/  Among  the  absurdities  of  these 
men,  the  most  ridiculous  (if  it  did  not  also  excite 
one's  spleen)  is  the  way  some  of  them  have  of  im 
agining  they  enjoy  a  monopoly  of  the  gift  of  proph 
esying.  Propose  any  scheme,  advocate  any  plan 
not  of  their  devising,  forecast  any  results,  they 
shake  their  empty  heads,  as  if  nobody's  eyes  were 
so  good  to  see  into  a  millstone  with  as  theirs. 

"  There  is  something  very  impressive  in  solemn 
silence — to  those  who  are  impressed  by  it." 


AT     GREYSTONES.  263 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

PRELIMINARY  TO  ANOTHER. 

SOME  learned  man — I  forget  his  name — has  writ 
ten  a  history — I  cannot  recollect  of  what  country, 
but  I  believe  it  is  Iceland — in  which  occurs  a  chap 
ter  entitled  "  Of  Owls/'  containing  only  these 
words  :  "  There  are  no  owls  in  Iceland." 

I  wish  to  devote  a  chapter  to  the  record  of  a 
remark  of  the  Doctor's,  which  I  think  is  a  nega 
tive  pregnant,  of  more  sententious  fulness  than 
even  the  learned  historian's. 

I  am  willing  to  be  considered  an  humble  imi 
tator  of  the  learned  man,  in  the  matter  of  the 
length  of  my  chapter  ;  but  I  do  not  wish  it  to  be 
thought  I  have  borrowed  the  title  of  it  from  him. 
I  should  have  put  it  at  the  head  of  my  chapter  if 


264  DOCTOR      OLDHAM 

he  had  never  written  his— for  it  is  the  only  title 
the  chapter  could  have  with  any  fitness.  It  is  as 
much  mine  as  though  he  had  not  used  it  hefore  me. 

A  learned  friend  of  mine  casting  his  eyes  over 
what  is  said  above— but  not,  alas  !  until  after  the 
casting  of  the  chapter — tells  me  that  my  vindica 
tion  of  my  titlo  for  the  next  chapter  is  needless  ; 
for  that  the  learned  historian's  chapter  is  entitled 
"  Of  Snakes,"  and  declares  :  "  There  are  no  Snakes 
in  Iceland/' 

JSTow  what  to  do  ?  'O  orrepeorvTrTov  arepeorvTrrov 
— stereotype  plates  are  stereotyped.  It  is  much 
easier  to  fill  out  the  blank  of  this  page  with  a  con 
fession  of  my  mistake,  than  to  make  the  needful 
alterations  in  the  plate.  I  do  so  therefore. 

Besides,  it  is  possible  my  learned  friend  may  be 
himself  mistaken — in  which  case  all  that  stands 
above  should  stand.  Let  every  reader  decide,  if  he 
can,  on  which  side  the  error  lies  ;  and  if  he  cannot, 
let  him  comfort  himself  with  the  thought  how  little 
it  matters — only  as,  doubtless,  the  Icelanders  would 
rather  be  without  snakes  than  without  owls,  let  him 
hope  that  I  am  the  one  in  error  :  so  shall  the  char 
ity  of  his  spirit  be  a  blessing  to  himself — which  is 
another  comfort.  How  much  good  one  may  get 
from  every  thing  ! 


AT     GRE  YSTONE3.  265 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 


OF    OWLS. 


"  OWLS/'  said  the  Doctor,  "  can  do  nothing  bui 
look  wise." 


12 


266  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

THE  DOCTOR  SAYS  SOME  THINGS  THAT  SOUND  TERT  STRANGE  TO  MRS. 

GARLAND BAD  CHRISTIANS  AND  GOOD  HEATHENS MR.  GRIM THE 

NECESSITY  FOR  A  GOOD  GOD. 

"  OPENED  Japan  to  Christianity,  have  they  ?  " 
said  the  Doctor.  "  What  a  pity  !  It  did  not 
matter  much  when  the  British  opened  China.  The 
people  were  already  so  bad  Christianity  could  not 
make  them  much  worse.  But  the  Japanese  were 
so  much  better  and  better  off  than  they  are  likely 
to  become  now." 

"  What  shocking  stuff  you  are  saying/'  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Garland.  She  is  a  friend  of  Mrs. 
Oldham's,  and  was  passing  the  evening  at  Grey- 
stones.  The  two  ladies  were  sitting  on  the  sofa  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  library,  consulting  about  an 
embroidered  pincushion,  when  Mrs.  Garland's  at- 


AT     GREYSTONES.  267 

tention  was   arrested  by  the  Doctor's  remark  to 
Professor  Clare. 

"  What  shocking  stuff,"  said  she.  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  it  ?  Do  you  think  that  Christianity 
makes  heathen  nations  worse  ?  " 

"  I  know  what  he  means,"  said  Mrs.  Oldham, 
"  though  I  wish  he  would  not  speak  in  such  a  way. 
He  means  that  bad  men  from  among  us  will  get 
there  first,  and  make  the  people  worse  before  good 
men  can  make  them  better." 

".  That  reminds  me/'  said  the  Professor,  "  of  a 
story  I  have  heard  the  once  famous  Captain  Kiley 
used  to  tell.  He  had  occasion  to  put  his  ship  on 
the  beach,  on  the  coast  of  some  Mohammedan  coun 
try,  in  order  to  repair  her  bottom,  and  was  obliged 
to  take  out  his  cargo  and  send  it  on  shore.  He  ap 
plied  to  the  nearest  Cadi,  or  magistrate  of  the  dis 
trict,  for  a  guard  to  protect  his  goods  from  theft. 
The  Cadi  told  him  he  could  have  a  guard  if  he 
wished  ;  '  but/  said  he,  '  can  you  trust  your  own 
men?'  '  0  yes/  replied  the  captain.  '  What  do 
you  want  of  a  guard,  then  ?  '  said  the  Cadi ;  '  there 
is  not  a  Christian  within  a  hundred  miles/  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  Captain  Kiley's  is 
not  the  best  authority  in  the  world,  yet  the  story 
may  be  true  for  all  that.  The  Moslemim  have  vices 


268  DOCTOR     OLD  II  AM 

enough,  but  thieving,  I  believe,  is  not  one  of  them, 
at  least  not  of  the  Turks.  In  the  bazaars  of  Con 
stantinople,  I  am  told,  the  merchants  are  not  afraid 
to  go  away  and  leave  their  goods  exposed,  with  the 
prices  marked  on  them,  and  if  a  purchaser  comes 
along,  he  takes  what  he  wants,  and  leaves  the  mo 
ney  in  its  place. 

"  But  however  this  may  be,  it  is  a  sad  thing  to 
consider  in  how  many  cases  bad  Christians  have 
carried  corruption,  vice  and  disease  among  less 
civilized  people,  before  the  better  influences  of 
genuine  Christian  teaching  and  example  could  get 
hold  of  them.  And  I  am  particularly  sorry  for  the 
Japanese,  if  the  accounts  we  have  recently  had  of 
them  be  correct.  I  have  seldom  read  such  pleasing 
descriptions  of  an  industrious,  ingenious,  contented, 
virtuous  and  happy  people." 

"  But  why  do  you  talk  of  bad  Christians  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Garland.  "  It  seems  to  me  bad  Chris 
tians  are  the  same  thing  as  no  Christians  at  all." 

"  I  suppose,  then,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  you 
would  say  bad  heathen  are  no  heathen  at  all  ?  " 

"  No,  I  would  not  say  that — but  it  seems  to 
me  that  a  person  cannot  be  a  Christian  unless  he 
is  good." 

"  Nor  a  heathen  without  being  bad  ?  "  asked 
the  Doctor. 


AT     GREYSTONES.  269 

"  Well/'  she  replied,  "  I  suppose  some  may  be 
naturally  worse  than  others,  but  none  of  them 
good." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  returned  the  Doctor.  "  The 
grace  of  God  is  everywhere  to  make  all  men  good, 
who  will  concur  with  its  (  godly  motions/  as  the 
Prayer  Book  has  it.  Even  the  heathen  Seneca 
could  say  :  '  A  Holy  Spirit  dwells  within  us  ;  no 
man  is  a  good  man  without  God/  That  is  a  bet 
ter  doctrine  than  the  Eeverend  Calvin  Grim's,  on 
the  one  hand,  and  Dr.  Pelagius  Blowbag's  on  the 
other.  For  my  part  I  don't  doubt  there  may  be 
heathen  who  are  better  men  than  many  Christians 
are.  There  may  be — I  thank  God — very  Christian 
heathen,  as  there  undoubtedly  are — I  am  sorry  to 
say — very  heathenish  Christians  ;  and  certainly  a 
good  heathen  is  a  great  deal  better  than  a  bad 
Christian/' 

"  But  what  is  to  make  them  good  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Garland.  "  They  have  no  knowledge  of  the  Gos 
pel/' 

"  The  Devil  has  a  very  correct  knowledge  of 
the  Gospel/'  replied  the  Doctor  ;  "  does  it  make 
him  good  ?  " 

"  But  he  is  out  of  its  pale/'  said  she  ;  "  the 
Gospel  is  for  men/' 


270  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

"  Well,  look  around  you,  then,  in  our  own 
neighborhood,  and  you  will  see  a  great  many  men 
nearly  as  bad  as  bad  men  can  be.  No,  my  dear 
lady,"  continued  the  Doctor,  "  the  knowledge  of 
the  Gospel  neither  necessarily  makes  men  good,  nor 
is  it  an  indispensable  condition  to  their  becoming 
so.  Men  may  be  bad  with  it — bad  Christians,  and 
good  without  it — good  heathen. 

"  No  creed  of  doctrines,  however  true  and  sub 
lime,  and  no  code  of  morals,  however  pure  and  no 
ble,  can  make  men  good  by  their  own  force  alone. 
The  Gospel,  if  you  look  at  it  as  a  mere  creed  or 
code,  is  as  ineffectual  as  the  Yedas  and  Shastras, 
the  laws  of  Lycurgus,  or  the  institutes  of  Menu. 
What  is  the  use  of  advising  a  man  with  broken 
legs  to  get  up  and  walk.  Set  his  legs,  and  in  due 
time  he  will  walk — and  run,  if  need  be.  Every 
man  knows  he  is  not  as  good  as  he  ought  to  be  ; 
and  no  man  can  make  himself  so  of  his  own  force 
alone.  What  he  needs  is  Divine  aid — a  power 
within  him  working  with  him  to  help  him  effectu 
ally  to  be  and  to  do  what  he  ought.  Does  the  All- 
Father  deny  this  help  to  any  of  His  creatures  ? 
does  He  give  it  only  to  those  who  know  the  won 
derful  story  of  the  way  in  which  it  comes  to  us  ? 
God  forbid.  His  Good  Spirit  is  in  every  human 


AT     GREYSTONES.  27l 

heart — a  power  to  goodness  in  every  one — working 
in  the  reason  and  conscience  of  all  men — in  hea 
thendom  through  the  dim  tradition  of  primitive  in 
struction  never  wholly  lost ;  in  Christendom  through 
the  clearer  light  of  the  Gospel  ;  so  that  '  in  every 
nation  whosoever  feareth  God  and  worketh  right 
eousness  ' — tries  to  obey  the  Divine  impulse,  and  to 
be  good  according  to  the  light  he  has — ( is  accepted 
of  Him/  It  is  impossible  for  us  to  say  how  much 
light  in  the  head  is  a  necessary  condition  to  good 
ness  in  the  heart.  God  alone  knows.  But  this  I 
am  sure  of,  that  '  clear  views  of  the  vital  truths  of 
the  Gospel ' — as  our  neighbor  Mr.  Evangelicus  Fine- 
phrase  calls  them — are  by  no  means  so  essential  as 
he  thinks  they  are.  I  have  known  very  great  theo 
logians  with  very  little  goodness,  and  many  men 
with  wonderfully  '  clear  views  of  vital  truths/  and  a 
wonderfully  poor  sense  of  honor  and  honesty  ;  and, 
on  the  other  hand,  I  have  known  poor  ignorant  wo 
men,  with  souls  full  of  love  to  God  and  man,  who, 
if  their  salvation  depended  on  it,  could  not  have 
told  the  difference  between  grace  and  great  coats. 
I  have  seen  them  meekly  and  bravely  bearing  the 
heavy  burden  of  a  weary  life  with  the  noblest  integ 
rity  ;  and  I  have  sat  by  their  death-beds,  and  have 
gone  with  them  down  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of 


272  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

Death,  as  far  as  I  could  go,  and  I  know  they  were 
filled  with  a  Divine  peace  that  '  passeth  under 
standing  ' — not  from  clear  views,  but  from  God  and 
God's  love  in  their  souls."  * 

"  But/'  said  Mrs.  Garland,  "  if  the  grace  of 
God  is  all  over  the  earth,  and  in  every  human  heart, 
what  is  the  necessity  of  sending  the  Gospel  to  the 
heathen  ?  "  " 

"  I  have  never  admitted  that  it  was  a  necessity, 
so  far  as  their  salvation  is  concerned,"  said  the 
Doctor,  "however  much  it  may  be  our  duty  to 
send  it." 

"  But  what  is  the  use  of  sending  it  ?  "  said  she. 

".  Because,  though  not  an  absolute  necessity,  it 
may  be  a  very  great  benefit ;  because,  though  they 
can,  by  God's  grace,  be  good  without  it,  they  may 
be  better  with  it.  It  supplies  more  favorable  con 
ditions  for  a  higher  degree  of  moral  elevation  in 
this  life.  Unenlightened  goodness  is  good,  but  en 
lightened  goodness  is  preferable.  The  light  of  the 
Gospel  increases  their  responsibilities,  but  it  en 
larges  their  moral  sphere.  They  are  judged  now 
according  to  the  light  they  have  ;  with  more  privi 
leges,  a  higher  standard." 

"But,"  interposed  Mrs.  Garland,  "how  can 
the  heathen  be  saved  without  faith  in  Christ  ? 


AT     GREYSTONES.  273 

The  Saviour  Himself  said  :  '  he  that  believeth  and 
is  "baptized  shall  be  saved ;  but  he  that  believeth 
not  shall  be  damned/  " 

"  True/'  replied  the  Doctor,  "  but  to  whom  did 
our  Lord  say  that  ?  Look  and  see,"  said  he,  hand 
ing  her  the  New  Testament,  open  at  the  place, 
(Mark  xvi.  15,  16.) 

"  To  the  Apostles,"  she  said,  looking  at  the 
passage. 

"  Just  before  His  Ascension,  was  it  not  ?  "  he 
continued,  "when  He  was  bidding  them  '  go  into 
all  the  world  and  preach  the  Gospel '  ?  " 

"  So  it  appears,"  she  answered. 

"  Did  not  the  fearful  saying  of  His  you  have 
quoted,  relate  then  to  those  to  whom  the  Gospel 
should  be  preached  and  authenticated  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  she. 

"  And  looking  at  it  as  it  stands  there,  should 
you  say  Our  Lord  had  any  others  in  His  mind  ?  " 

"  I  confess  not." 

"  Has  His  saying,  then,  any  bearing  at  all  on 
the  case  of  those  who  know  nothing  of  the  Gos 
pel  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know — it  would  seem  it  has 
not." 

"  Seem  !  "  said  the  Doctor,  "  why,  ninety-nine 
12* 


274  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

hundredths,  probably,  of  the  human  race,  for  six 
thousand  years,  have  died  without  knowing  the 
story  of  ~trod's  love  in  sending  His  Son  into  our 
world  ;  do  you  believe  that  because  of  their  igno 
rance  of  it,  God  withheld  from  them  the  grace  of 
His  Good  Spirit  in  their  hearts,  and  so  doomed 
their  spiritual  existence  to  be  an  infinite,  eternal 
failure  of  its  proper  end  ?  " 

"  It  does  seem  dreadful  to  believe  so,"  she  re 
plied. 

"  Well,  never  think  for  a  moment  you  are  un 
der  any  obligation  to  believe  such  a  monstrous 
thing.  Besides,"  continued  the  Doctor,  "  the  very 
faith  that  is  required  of  those  to  whom  the  Gospel 
is  preached,  does  not  consist  in  a  mere  intellectual 
acceptance  of  its  truth  of  facts  and  doctrines.  It, 
is  a  moral  and  practical  disposition — a  spirit  and 
will  of  childlike  submission  and  obedience  to  what 
one  knows  to  be  true  and  right — and  that  is  a  spirit 
which,  through  God's  grace,  may  be  attained  by 
those  who  are  untaught  in  the  facts  and  doctrines 
of  the  Gospel,  and  so  they  may  pass  away  into  a 
higher  sphere  with  the  very  essence  of  saving  faith 
in  their  souls,  ready  to  unfold  and  embrace  the 
truth  revealed  to  them  in  the  clearer  light  of  a 
brighter  world." 


AT     GREYSTONES.  275 

"  Well/'  said  Mrs.  Garland,  "  I  never  heard 
any  thing  like  this  hefore.  Did  you  ?  "  she  added, 
turning  to  Mrs.  Oldham. 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  my  husband  say  the  same 
in  substance  before.  But  I  never  indulge  in  any 
speculations  on  such  things.  I  am  content  to  leave 
it  all  to  the  Good  Lord  ;  I  have  boundless  trust  in 
His  wisdom  and  love,  to  make  all  things  right  in 
the  end/' 

"  An  excellent  disposition,  my  dear  wife,  espe 
cially  in  a  woman,  and  a  happiness  for  all  who  do 
not  feel  the  necessity  to  speculate,  and  upon  whom 
such  questions  never  press — if  only  they  really  turn 
their  minds  away  from  them,  and  do  not,  through 
reverence  for  unwise  instruction,  attempt  to  hold 
both  sides  of  a  contradiction,  and  believe  in  things 
dishonorable  to  God  and  revolting  to  conscience. 
Mysteries  we  must  believe  ;  he  that  will  explain  all 
things,  and  believe  in  nothing  that  is  not  altogether 
explicable,  must  soon  come  to  have  a  creed  of  less 
than  one  article  ;  for  all  things  go  out  into  mystery 
— every  thing  explicable  rests  on  something  inex 
plicable — the  ground  of  all  things  must  be  ground 
less.  But  contradictions  we  cannot  really  believe — 
contradictions  to  conscience  we  should  not  try  to 
believe  ;  I  was  going  to  say  it  does  us  harm  to  try, 


276  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

but  that  I  recollect  how  much  reason  I  have  had  to 
see  what  a  blessed  thing  it  is  that  wrong-headed 
heads  and  right-hearted  hearts  dwell  in  peace  to 
gether  in  many  of  the  most  estimable  persons  I 
have  ever  known." 

".Well/'  said  Mrs.  Garland,  "  you  talk  very 
differently  from  Mr.  Grim.  I  heard  him  preach 
the  other  day  from  the  very  text  I  quoted  to  you  ; 
and  he  urged  the  sending  of  the  Gospel  to  the 
heathen  on  the  ground  that  they  were  all  perishing 
for  want  of  its  light." 

"  Yes,  I  heard  him/'  replied  the  Doctor,  "  and 
the  whole  drift  of  his  discourse  was  to  the  effect 
that  God  would  condemn  the  heathen  to  everlasting 
death  for  not  believing  in  a  Saviour  they  had  never 
heard  of.  I  could  hardly  resist  the  impulse  to  get 
up  and  say  :  i  my  friends,  let  us  before  all  things 
have  a  good  God ' — and  '  common  sense  in  relig 
ion/ 

"  Mr.  Grim  is  a  conscientious  man,  and  preaches 
according  to  what  he  thinks  true.  But  his  repre 
sentations  of  God  would  overshadow  the  universe 
to  me  with  an  infinite  horror  of  blackness  of  dark 
ness.  It  seems  to  me  scarcely  possible  but  every 
child  and  simple  uncultivated  person  must  get  the 
impression  from  his  preaching,  that  what  God  was 


AT      GKEYSTONES.  277 

for,  was  principally  to  be  ever  on  the  alert  to  get 
occasion  against  His  creatures  for  their  condemna 
tion,  and  that  practical  religion  and  the  problem  of 
human  life  resolves  itself  into  a  perpetual  sharp 
lookout  against  this  on  the  part  of  His  creatures." 

"  0  husband,  it  is  painful  to  hear  you  say  so  !  " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Oldham. 

"  It  is  nothing  but  the  truth,  my  dear,  and  I 
am  as  sorry  for  that  as  you  can  be.  I  don't  say  he 
thinks  so  or  feels  so  himself,  in  any  clear,  conscious 
way.  But  it  is  all  along  of  his  natural  tempera 
ment  and  of  his  unhappy  religious  instruction,  that 
he  should  in  all  honesty  preach  in  a  way  to  beget 
in  children  and  simple  folk  the  religion  of  servile 
fear  rather  than  of  filial  trust  and  love.  It  must 
in  some  cases  have  an  influence,  more  or  less,  to  re 
press  or  distort  the  freest  and  happiest  unfolding 
of  the  religious  spirit  in  them  ;  but  for  the  most 
part  God  and  God's  love  in  their  souls  is  so  strong, 
that  they  will  take  but  little  real  harm.  Which  is 
something  I  am  heartily  rejoiced  to  believe." 


278  DOCTOR      OLDHAM 


CHAPTER     XXIX. 

PROFESSOR  CLARE  GETS  BACK  TO  JAPAN,  AND  THE  DOCTOR  IS  UNDULY 
SEVERE  UPON  CANT  AND  THE  GOSPEL  OF  COTTON  FIELDS. 

"  BUT  to  come  back  to  where  we  started,"  said 
Professor  Clare,  "  you  will  not  deny  the  ultimate 
benefits  to  China  and  Japan,  that  must  result  from 
opening  those  countries  to  the  influences  of  civili 
zation  and  Christianity  ?  " 

"  No/'  replied  the  Doctor,  "  only  I  must  remind 
you  that  if  China  and  Japan,  and  the  whole  heathen 
world,  were  to  become  civilized  and  christianized 
to-morrow,  as  much  as  New  York  is  to-day,  the 
millennium  would  be  very  far  from  having  arrived. 
The  spectacle  of  human  society  would  be  far  from 
satisfactory  to  the  demands  of  reason  or  the  wishes 
of  a  good  heart.  Still,  I  don't  question  but  Divine 
Providence  may  bring  good  out  of  man's  worst 


AT     GKEYSTONES.  279 

doings.  The  thing  I  object  to  is  the  very  common 
habit  of  making  God's  overrulings  the  justification 
of  man's  evil  doings — particularly  in  such  cases  as 
these.  What  right  had  we  to  send  a  formidable 
naval  force  into  their  waters,  and  overawe  the  Jap 
anese  into  a  treaty  of  commercial  relations  with  us, 
to  which  they  were  averse  ?  " 

"  But/7  said  the  Professor,  "  ought  they  not  to 
come  into  the  great  family  of  nations,  and  within 
the  sphere  of  international  law  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  unless  they  choose 
to  do  so.  So  far,  indeed,  as  international  law  con 
sists  in  the  principles  of  natural  justice,  they  were 
already  bound  by  it  on  the  high  sea,  or  wherever 
else  they  were  brought  into  relations  with  us  by 
their  own  choice,  or  by  circumstances  other  than 
force  on  our  part. 

"  But  the  mere  conventional  rules  of  interna 
tional  law  are  of  just  force  only  upon  such  nations 
as  accede  to  them,  because  they  choose  to  come  into 
such  relations  with  other  nations,  as  make  the  adop 
tion  of  them  a  matter  of  mutual  fitness  and  ad 
vantage.  Every  individual  among  us  is  bound  by 
the  rules  of  justice  towards  his  neighbor,  but  he  is 
his  own  judge  as  to  the  degree  of  intimate  inter 
course  he  will  maintain  with  him.  No  man  has  a 


280  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

right  to  block  up  the  highway  ;  but  every  man  has 
a  right  to  keep  his  own  gates  shut — and  even  if  he 
is  not  neighborly  and  kind  in  the  matter,  you  can 
not  make  it  ground  of  assault  or  violence.  So  with 
nations.  If  they  do  not  choose  to  trade  with  us, 
we  have  no  right  to  compel  them  to  do  so,  still  less 
to  impose  upon  barbarous  nations,  by  force  or  fear, 
treaty  stipulations  for  our  own  advantage,  which 
we  might  naturally  expect  them  to  break — perhaps 
even  calculating  upon  their  violating .  them — and 
then  to  make  every  little  infraction  a  pretext  for 
invasion,  conquest,  or  new  demands.  Which  is 
very  much  the  British  way  of  doing  things. 

"  No,  sir,  neither  the  British  in  forcing  open 
the  gates  of  China  to  the  opium  trade,  nor  our  gov 
ernment  in  compelling  the  Japanese  into  a  com 
mercial  treaty,  went  upon  any  other  law  than  the 
immoral  law  of  the  strongest ;  and  the  motive  in 
both  cases  was  no  better  than  the  principle — the 
mere  greed  of  gain.  Yet  we  both  try  to  cover  up 
from  ourselves  the  injustice  of  the  principle,  and 
the  meanness  of  the  motive,  by  talking  about  ( the 
great  family  of  nations/  '  international  law/  '  bene 
fit  to  the  barbarians/  and  the  like. 

"  I  have  a  great  dislike  to  hypocrisy  and  cant 
taken  singly  ;  but  when  they  go  together,  they  in- 


AT      GREYS  TONES.  281 

spire  a  tenfold  aversion.  A  bold  bad  man  who 
scorns  to  deny  or  excuse  his  wickedness,  is  a  bad 
enough  sight ;  but  he  is  respectable  compared  with 
the  sneaking  hypocrite,  who  tries  to  cover  up  his 
wickedness  and  meanness  by  pious  phrases,  expect 
ing  to  delude  you — perhaps  deluding  himself — into 
the  notion  that  he  is  a  right  saintly  man. 

"  The  ostrich  thrusts  his  head  into  the  covert 
of  a  bush,  and  does  not  know  that  he  leaves  all  his 
hindward  parts  exposed  to  view." 

"  He  is  a  very  disgusting  object,  sir." 
"  This  reminds  me  of  a  pamphlet  put  out  within 
a  year  or  two,  purporting  to  be  by  a  New  York 
merchant — though  the  man,  I  believe,  has  no  title 
to  the  name — but  at  all  events  evidently  a  person 
of  much  low-bred  conceit,  who  writes  in  bad  English 
and  worse  taste.  The  principal  thing,  however, 
to  disgust  one,  is  the  attempt  to  sanctify  a  project 
of  mean  selfishness,  by  the  cant  of  Christian  love. 
The  man  overflows  with  such  sweet  charity  for 
the  African  negroes,  that  he  would  have  them  cap 
tured,  and  forced  over  here  from  the  seats  where 
God  planted  them,  solely  to  save  their  souls,  by 
bringing  them  under  the  blessed  influences  of  Gos 
pel  light  and  love — as  many  of  them  only,  however, 
as  can  by  dint  of  hard  flogging,  be  made  profitable 


282  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

in  growing  cotton  !  Delightful  to  see  such  fervors 
of  Christian  love,  such  pious  concern  for  souls  ! 
Such  mercy 

is  twice  bless'd ; 
It  blesseth  liim  that  takes  and  him  that  gives  I 

"One  would  imagine  such  precious  Christian 
love  would  have  quickened  him  to  see  and  to  preach 
a  sublimer  height  of  heroic  charity — hard  work  and 
hard  flogging  pushed  to  the  extent  of  disparting 
soul  and  body  as  soon  as  possible  after  the  negroes 
had  imbibed  enough  of  Gospel  light  and  love  to 
save  their  souls,  so  as  to  make  room  for  fresh  car 
goes  to  be  brought  under  the  same  soul-saving  pro 
cesses,  to  be  forwarded  in  turn  with  equal  dispatch 
to  the  realms  of  bliss — leaving  their  place  of  earthly 
-privilege  to  others  :  and  thus,  on  and  on,  until  the 
souls  of  the  whole  dusky  race  shall  be  saved  !  It 
would  make  a  brisk  carrying  trade.  The  traffic  of 
love  would  be  profitable.  Godliness  would  be  gain. 
Yerily  such  virtue  would  find  its  exceeding  great 
reward  here,  and  foremost  mention  at  the  Great 
Day  :  Come,  ye  blessed  of  my  Father,  inherit  the 
kingdom  prepared  especially  for  you  ;  for  I  was  in 
darkness  and  ye  brought  me  to  the  light  and  love 
of  the  blessed  cotton  fields.  Yerily  I  say  unto  you, 


AT     GREYSTONES.  283 

inasmuch,  as  ye  did  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these 
my  brethren,  ye  did  it  unto  Me." 

"  But  what  could  be  his  motive/'  said  Professor 
Clare,  "  a  Northern  man  to  come  out  in  favor  of  the 
revival  of  this  infamous  traffic  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know/'  replied  the  Doctor  ;  "  possibly 
lie  was  fool  enough  to  be  the  dupe  of  his  own  cant 
— possibly  the  vanity  of  wishing  to  make  a  sensa 
tion  (if  so  he  failed) — possibly  the  mean  purpose 
of  currying  favor  in  certain  quarters — possibly  a 
desire  to  add  the  carrying  trade  in  negroes  to  his 
other  callings — possibly  the  mere  wish  to  enlarge 
the  market  for  bread — temporal  and  spiritual. 

"  I  can  honor  slaveholders,  such  as  I  know  there 
are  thousands  at  the  South — good  men,  trying  to 
do  their  duty  in  the  state  in  which  God's  provi 
dence  and  man's  laws  have  put  them,  without  their 
leave  asked. 

"  I  can  even  respect,  at  least  the  honest  bold 
ness  of  the  man  there,  who  says :  '  I  don't  pretend 
to  Christian  love  and  fine  sentiment ;  I  want  more 
negroes  from  Africa  for  my  own  ends — to  make 
money  by  making  them  make  cotton  for  me.' 

"  But  a  Northern  man  advocating  the  revival 
of  the  African  Slave  Trade,  out  of  Christian  love 
for  the  souls  of  the  negroes  ! 


284  DOCTOR      OLDHAM 

"  BAH  I 

"  I  am  of  opinion  the  Good  Lord  finds  more 
darkness  to  be  dispelled  from  his  than  from  the 
darkest  Congo  mind,  and  much  more  to  be  mended 
in  his  heart,  before  he  can  be  a  well-saved  soul." 


AT     GREYSTONES.  285 


CHAPTER    XXX. 


MR.    STOCKJOB    PILE ALDERMAN    GUBBINS — HARDHEAD    BULLION BOB 

SLENDER — IT    TAKES    SOMETHING    INSIDE    TO    MAKE     SOMETHING 

WHICH  IS  DECLARED  AT  THE  END  OF  THE  CHAPTER. 


uNo,  my  dear/'  said  the  Doctor,  "Mr.  Stockjob 
Pile  is  not  a  gentleman.  He  is  a  shrewd  man,  who 
has  made  a  large  fortune  by  '  operations '  in  Wall 
street,  and  is  a  great  man  among  men  of  his  own 
class,  and  also  among  flunkeys  and  snobs  of  every 
class.  He  is  a  very  rich  man,  but  I  am  unhappily 
unable  to  entertain  any  special  respect  for  a  man 
who  is  nothing  but  a  rich  man — particularly  if  he 
challenges  deference  on  that  account  from  men 
without  wealth,  but  infinitely  his  superiors  in  sense, 
intelligence,  thorough  breeding  and  culture. 

"  I  like  a  man  none  the  less  for  being  rich,  and 
am  just  as  ready  to  cultivate  his  acquaintance  as 
any  other  man's,  if  he  is  something  more  and  bet 
ter  than  a  mere  rich  man — a  man  of  good  sense, 


286  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

right  principles  and  honorable  sentiments,  and  well- 
bred  enough  not  to  expect  me  to  seek  him  more 
than  he  seeks  me.  Money  is  an  exceedingly  con 
venient  thing  for  its  convenient  uses,  and  an  ex 
ceedingly  important  thing  for  its  better  uses,  in  sub 
serving  the  highest  development  of  a  people  in  right 
culture  and  true  well-being.  But  the  mere  pos 
session  of  it  is  not  the  only  nor  the  highest  respec 
tability.  There  are  some  otherwise  very  estimable 
men  and  desirable  acquaintances,  who  have,  more  or 
less,  the  weakness  of  thinking  their  riches  entitle 
them  to  be  sought  more  than  they  seek  you — who 
will  give  you  a  general  invitation  to  come  and  see 
them,  when  civility  and  propriety  require  them  to 
come  and  see  you  first.  With  such  persons — no 
matter,  as  to  the  rest,  how  clever  and  agreeable 
they  may  be — I  make  it  a  point  the  acquaintance 
shall  go  upon  the  footing  of  a  perfectly  reciprocal 
give  and  take.  If  they  can  do  without  me  on  that 
footing,  I  can  do  without  them.  It  is  not  because 
I  am  exacting  in  my  nature  ;  with  old  friends,  or 
those  whom  I  know  to  be  exempt  from  the  weakness 
I  have  mentioned,  I  am  not  the  least  in  the  world 
disposed  to  stand  upon  the  punctilio  of  strict  social 
gif-gaf.  But  as  I  think  there  are  some  things  bet 
ter  than  mere  money,  and  of  indispensable  impor- 


AT     GREYSTONES.  287 

tance  to  the  commonwealth — without  which  indeed 
no  people,  however  rich,  can  advance  to  the  high 
est  social  state — so  I  think  the  dignity  and  worth 
of  those  interests  should  never  be  compromised  by 
unseemly  subservience  to  what  is  merely  external 
and  material — especially  in  a  country  like  this, 
where  there  is  a  tendency  to  the  over-estimation  of 
the  dignity  of  dollars,  not  checked  or  countervailed, 
as  in  England,  by  established  ranks  and  other  pow 
erful  social  influences  not  based  upon  mere  money. 

"  This  reminds  me  of  a  passage  I  was  reading 
to-day  in  an  Academic  discourse,  published  many 
years  ago  by  Dr.  Henry.  Here  it  is.  Let  me  read 
it  to  you  : 

"  '  Throughout  the  country  the  great  majority 
of  the  people  have  a  profound  reverence  for  nothing 
but  money.  Public  office  is  a  partial  exception. 
Why  should  it  be  otherwise  ?  They  see  nothing 
else  so  powerful.  Riches  not  only  secure  the  mate 
rial  ends  of  life — its  pleasures  and  luxuries,  but  they 
open  the  way  to  all  the  less  material  objects  of  man's 
desire — respect  and  observance,  authority  and  in 
fluence. 

"  c  In  the  mean  time  the  tone  of  society  is  de 
based.  The  luxury  of  mere  riches  is  always  a  vul 
gar  luxury.  It  is  external  and  devoid  of  good 


288  DOCTOR     OLD  II  AM 

taste.  It  always  goeth  about  feeling  its  purse.  It 
counteth  the  fitness  and  propriety  of  its  appoint 
ments,  by  the  sum  they  cost.  It  calleth  your  at 
tention  to  its  glittering  equipage,  and  saith  it  ought 
to  be  of  the  first  style,  for  it  cost  the  highest  price. 
It  receiveth  you  to  its  grand  saloons,  and  wisheth 
you  to  mark  its  furniture.  It  inviteth  yon  to  its 
table,  and  biddeth  you  note  the  richness  of  its  plate, 
and  telleth  you  the  price  of  its  wines.  The  fashion 
of  mere  riches  is  also  a  vulgar  fashion.  The  but 
terfly  insignificance  of  its  life  is  not  even  adorned 
by  the  graceful  fluttering  of  its  golden  wings.  It 
is  quite  possible  to  have  the  extravagance  and  fri 
volity  of  fashionable  life,  without  the  ease  and 
grace,  the  charms  of  wit  and  spirit,  and  the  ele 
gance  of  mind  and  manners,  that  in  other  countries 
often  adorn  its  real  nothingness,  or  cover  up  the 
coarse  workings  of  jealousy  and  pretension. 

"  (  Such  must  always  be  the  tendency  of  things, 
where  the  commercial  spirit  acquires  an  undue  pre 
dominance — where  the  excessive  and  exclusive  re 
spect  for  money  is  not  repressed  by  appropriate 
counterchecks.  In  some  coimtries  these  checks  to 
the  overgrowth  of  the  commercial  spirit  are  sought 
in  venerable  institutions  of  religion  and  letters,  in 
habits  of  respect  for  established  rank,  and  above 


AT     GBEYSTONES.  289 

all,  by  throwing  a  considerable  portion  of  the  prop 
erty  into  such  a  train  of  transmission,  as  that  it 
becomes  the  appendage  and  ornament  of  something 
that  appeals  to  the  higher  sentiments,  something 
that  is  held  in  greater  respect  than  mere  riches, 
and  with  the  possession  of  which  are  connected  dig 
nified  trusts,  a  high  education,  and  the  culture  and 
habit  of  all  lofty  and  generous  sentiments.  This  is 
unquestionably  the  idea  lying  at  the  ground  of  the 
English  aristocracy  in  the  English  constitution. 
Hence  inalienable  estates,  belonging  not  to  the 
man,  but  to  the  dignity  ;  where  the  wealth  is  de 
signed  to  be  only  the  means  of  sustaining  and 
adorning  the  dignity,  of  fulfilling  its  proper  trusts, 
and  of  upholding  those  high  interests  of  the  coun 
try,  of  which  the  possessor  of  the  dignity  is  but 
the  representative  ;  and  where  habits  of  education, 
from  generation  to  generation,  are  designed  to  teach 
and  impress  the  value  of  many  other  things  above 
mere  riches,  and  to  connect  with  the  possession  and 
use  of  them  honorable  sentiments,  liberal  culture, 
and  the  disposition  to  respect  and  promote  the  cul 
tivation  of  high  science  and  letters,  and  all  the 
more  spiritual  elements  of  social  well-being.  And 
strong  as  are  our  prejudices  in  this  country,  it  may 
at  least  be  questioned,  whether  a  fair  estimate  of 
13 


290  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

the  evils  on  both  sides,  would  not  show  that  such 
an  aristocracy  is  in  many  respects  preferable  to  the 
aristocracy  of  new  riches,  where  the  elements  of  so 
ciety  are  in  perpetual  fluctuation,  where  the  coarse 
pretensions  of  lucky  speculators,  and  the  vulgar 
struggles  of  all  to  get  up,  leave  little  room  for  the 
feeling  of  repose  and  respect/ 

"  I  don't  quite  agree/'  continued  Dr.  Oldham, 
"  with  every  expression  in  this  passage.  I  think 
the  people  of  this  country  have  an  inordinate  re 
spect  for  public  office-as  well  as  for  money  ;  and  it 
seems  to  me  there  is  a  greater  respect  for  high  sci 
ence,  art  and  letters,  than  there  was  twenty  years 
ago,  when  this  discourse  was  written.  Still  there 
is  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  it. 

"  It  is  amusing,  for  instance,  to  see  the  working 
of  fashionable  exclusiveness  in  the  society  among 
us,  that  rests  upon  commercial  wealth.  By  the 
yard,  by  the  piece,  by  the  bale,  by  the  cargo,  are 
distinctions  of  great  moment  in  the  New  York 
world  of  fashion.  The  wives  and  daughters  of  the 
man  that  sells  by  the  cargo,  turn  up  their  noses  at 
the  wives  and  daughters  of  the  man  that  sells  by 
the  bale,  and  never  even  think  of  the  wives  and 
daughters  of  the  lesser  sellers  as  belonging  in  any 
way  to  society — though  the  great  world  of  London 


AT     GREYSTONES.  291 

would  laugh  at  the  distinction,  and  exclude  them 
all  alike,  and  every  thing  else  connected  with  trade, 
except  now  and  then  in  the  case  of  a  great  banker, 
iron-master,  mill-owner,  or  the  like,  who,  besides 
being  rich,  had  shown  superior  abilities,  and  won  a 
distinguished  position  in  the  political  world,  or  in 
some  other  sphere  of  public  service. 

"  The  lower  strata  in  New  York  may,  however, 
work  up  and  crop  out — as  the  geologists  say.  Al 
derman  Gubbins  has  done  so  ;  or  rather  Mrs.  Gub- 
bins  and  the  daughters  have.  Gubbins  began  life 
as  a  small  grocer  in  Fulton  street — his  family  liv 
ing  over  his  shop  ;  but  he  was  shrewd,  frugal  and 
lucky,  and  in  a  few  years  removed  his  business  to 
South  street,  where  he  made  an  immense  fortune 
by  heavy  transactions  in  coffee,  rum,  sugar,  and 
the  like. 

"  Gubbins  is  a  coarse,  sensual  man,  fond  of 
good  eating  and  drinking ;  beyond  that  he  has  a 
supreme  contempt  for  every  thing  but  money.  But 
his  wife  is  clever,  and  very  ambitious  for  herself  and 
for  her  daughters.  So  Gubbins  has  built  a  great 
house  in  Fifth  Avenue,  with  no  end  of  fine  furni 
ture  and  gorgeous  upholstery  within,  and  his  wife 
has  pushed  her  way  to  a  place  in  the  upper  world 
of  fashion,  %y  giving  costly  entertainments  to  its 


292  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

denizens,  plenty  of  whom  will  go  to  criticize,  to 
dance  with  each  other,  to  devour  truffle  pies,  and 
drink  Gubbins'  unquestionable  hock  and  cham 
pagne.  Mrs.  McFlimsey  of  Madison  square  may 
be  seen  there,  and  her  daughter  Flora,  although 
Mrs.  McFlimsey  declares  she  cannot  help  feeling 
awkward  when  she  remembers — as  she  well  does — 
the  shop  in  Fulton  street.  But  then  Mrs.  Bullion 
goes,  and  Mrs.  Diamond — and  what  is  she  to  do  ? 

"Hardhead  Bullion — f worth  his  millions/  as 
they  say  on  ' Change — is  of  a  different  cast  from 
Gubbins.  He  values  money  neither  for  itself  nor 
for  the  luxuries  it  buys,  so  far  as  his  own  enjoy 
ment  of  them  is  concerned,  but  for  the  deference 
and  observance  it  secures.  He  is  a  proud  man,  not 
unconscious  of  the  superior  respect  which  cultivated 
persons  have  for  high  intellectual  faculties  and 
achievements  above  mere  money  ;  and  he  takes 
pleasure  in  making  sumptuous  dinners,  and  inviting 
men  eminent  in  art  or  letters  along  with  rich  men 
of  his  own  kidney,  bestowing  exclusively  upon  the 
latter  his  special  attention  and  civilities,  and  main 
taining  the  conversation  upon  such  matters  as  suit 
their  intelligence  and  capacity  of  being  interested, 
and  putting  the  former  into  the  false  position  of  si 
lence,  or  of  following  his  lead,  and  playing  second 


AT     G  KEYSTONES.  293 

to  men  not  so  much  intrinsically  entitled  to  defer 
ence,  perhaps,  as  the  butler  behind  his  chair.  It 
gratifies  his  pride.  But  those  who  have  any  proper 
self-respect  are  never  caught  the  second  time  ; 
though  I  am  ashamed  to  say  there  are  always  some 
persons  of  fine  parts  and  true  genius,  who  are  con 
tent  to  be  his  satellites  and  dry  nurses  to  his  pride, 
and  to  that  of  those  who  estimate  the  worth  of  a 
man  by  the  number  of  dollars  he  has,  or  is  supposed 
to  have.  What  a  significant  and  humiliating  token, 
by  the  way,  of  the  vulgarizing  and  morally  deterio 
rating  effect  of  the  social  predominance  of  mere 
money,  is  such  a  use  of  that  word,  Worth  !  that 
good  old  Saxon  term,  framed  originally  to  express 
the  intrinsic  dignity,  the  spiritual  nobleness  of  man. 
"  Bob  Slender  is  of  another  type.  He  is  a  vain 
man  ;  and  when  he  had  built  up  his  fortune  to  the 
height  he  was  satisfied  with,  he  began  to  cast  about 
to  acquire  social  distinction  outside  Wall  street  and 
the  Board  of  Brokers.  He  had  a  certain  conceit 
of  his  taste  in  matters  of  Art,  so  he  built  himself  a 
handsome  house,  with  a  large  library  and  a  spacious 
sky-lighted  picture  gallery,  and  set  up  as  a  patron 
of  American  Art — sparing  no  pains  to  make  his 
house  an  agreeable  point  of  reunion  to  eminent  art 
ists,  celebrated  poets,  and  distinguished  men  of  let- 


294  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

ters,  cultivating  them  with  much  assiduity,  and 
thereby  securing  a  certain  distinction  to  himself,  in 
the  way  most  agreeable  to  his  vanity  ;  and  being  a 
really  good-natured  fellow,  with  a  genuine  respect 
for  the  distinction  which  intellectual  eminence  con 
fers  he  has  succeeded  in  establishing  quite  intimate 
relations  with  nearly  all  good-natured  men  among 
those  whose  society  he  cultivates. 

"  But  Stockjob  Pile  is  a  very  different  sort  of  man 
from  either  Gubbins,  or  Bullion,  or  Slender.  He 
piques  himself  upon  his  white  hands,  faultless  linen, 
well  fancied  neck-tie,  nicely  fitting  gloves  and  boots, 
correct  hat,  well-chosen  vests  and  other  garments, 
jewelry  and  ornaments  genuine  and  in  no  excess  : — 
in  short,  he  is  the  model  of  a  well-dressed  man. 
He  speaks  respectable  English,  but  knows  nothing 
outside  the  sphere  of  his  '  operations/  except  what 
he  gets  from  one  or  two  daily  newspapers,  from  the 
current  talk  l down  town/  and  from  the  '  up  town' 
gossip  of  the  society  he  lives  in,  calling  itself  fash 
ionable,  composed  for  the  most  part  of  persons  of 
the  same  sort  with  himself,  and  based  upon  the  os 
tentatious  expenditure  of  money. 

"  But  Mr.  Stockjob  Pile,  though  excessively 
genteel,  is  not  a  gentleman. 

"  I  will  tell  you  how  I  came  to  know  it.     I 


AT     G  KEYSTONES.  295 

have  no  acquaintance  with  him,  though  I  know  him 
by  sight.  I  was  in  town  the  other  day,  and  got 
into  one  of  the  cars  running  down  Sixth  Avenue. 
The  old  way  of  collecting  the  fare,  by  a  conductor 
passing  through,  had  just  been  changed,  and  pas 
sengers  were  expected,  immediately  on  entering  the 
car,  to  deposit  their  fivepences  in  a  box  placed  at 
the  head  of  the  car,  under  a  printed  placard  ad 
vising  them  of  the  new  way,  and  informing  them 
that  the  driver  had  instructions  to  receive  from 
such  as  could  not  make  the  exact  amount,  any 
larger  coin  or  note,  and  return  to  them  the  full 
sum  in  such  '  change '  as  would  enable  them  to  make 
the  proper  deposit  in  the  box.  Very  soon  after  I 
got  in,  a  person  entered  and  took  a  seat  by  my  side. 
Apparently  uninformed  of  the  change,  and  not  no 
ticing  the  placard,  he  paid  no  heed  to  the  driver's 
raps  on  the  door  to  remind  him.  I  pointed  his  at 
tention  to  the  directions.  He  cast  his  eyes  on  them, 
thanked  me,  and  made  his  deposit. 

"  Presently  Mr.  Stockjob  Pile  came  in  and 
took  a  seat  opposite  to  us.  He  was  dressed  in  a 
very  distinguished  but  perfectly  correct  morning 
costume.  He  did  not  comply  with  the  new  direc 
tions,  and  sat  regardless  of  the  driver's  admonitory 
raps.  Presuming  him  ignorant  of  the  change,  the 


296  DOC  TOE      OLDHAM 

man  at  my  side  politely  pointed  his  attention  to 
the  placard.  Stockjob  looked  in  the  direct  ion,  then 
bending  his  eyes  upon  the  man,  said,  in  a  supercil 
ious  tone  :  '  I  learned  to  read  some  time  ago/  '  So 
did  I/  replied  the  man,  'but  I  was  none  the  less 
obliged  to  this  gentleman  for  his  politeness  in  point 
ing  me  to  that  new  rule.  But  I  beg  your  pardon, 
sir/" 

"What  did  Mr.  Pile  say  in  reply?"  asked 
Mrs.  Oldham. 

"  Nothing,"  answered  the  Doctor  ;  "  but  I  said 
something  to  the  man  by  my  side,  in  an  undertone, 
which  yet,  I  am  afraid,  reached  Mr.  Stockjob  Pile's 
ears.  I  did  not  look  at  him,  but  I  noticed  imme 
diately  a  mild  smile  on  the  face  of  a  very  bright 
looking  young  lady  directly  opposite  me." 

u  What  was  it  you  said  ?  " 

"  It  takes  something  inside  to  make  a  gentle 
man" 


AT     GBETSTONE8.  297 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 


ABOUT  CASPAR  TUBEROSE  AND  HIS  WIFE — WITH   OTHER   THINGS   TOUCH 
ING  THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  A  GENTLEMAN. 


"BUT  what  is  it  that  makes  a  gentleman  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Oldham. 

"  I'll  tell  you  first  who  is  a  gentleman.  He  is  a 
man  you  know — that  florist  that  has  his  conserva 
tory  at  the  upper  end  of  Madison  street." 

"  What,  Tuherose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Caspar  Tuberose." 

"  Who  comes  to  church  every  Sunday,  with  that 
grotesque  little  figure  of  a  wife  hanging  on  his 
arm  ?  " 

"  The  same.  She  is  crazed,  poor  thing  !  Tu 
berose  went  to  England  some  fifteen  years  ago  or 
more,  and  returned  bringing  her  with  him.  She 
was  young,  and  I  dare  say  very  pretty,  when  he 
13* 


298  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

married  her  ;  and  I  have  always  fancied  there  must 
have  been  some  touch  of  romance  in  the  affair. 
The  fright  of  the  voyage,  or  some  peril  at  sea,  I  am 
told,  gave  her  nerves  such  a  shock,  that  it  unset 
tled  her  brain,  and  she  has  never  been  rightly  her 
self  since,  though  always  harmless,  I  believe." 

"What  a  figure  she  makes  of  herself,"  said 
Mrs.  Oldham,  "  coming  to  church — her  slender 
form  arrayed  in  a  scant,  slim  dress,  hardly  coming 
down  to  her  ankles — the  little  belt  around  her  waist, 
or  rather  almost  up  to  her  arms — the  old-fashioned 
Quaker  kerchief  covering  her  bosom,  and  her  huge 
overshadowing  bonnet ;  she  is  the  queerest  sight  in 
the  world.  She  has  two  of  those  extraordinary  bon 
nets — one  for  winter  and  one  for  summer — both  in 
shape  like  coal  scuttles  of  the  largest  size,  very 
flaring,  projecting  forward  more  than  six  inches 
beyond  her  forehead  and  face,  and  bedizzened  with 
many-hued  ribbons — a  perfect  quarrel  of  inharmo 
nious  colors,  in  Madge  Wildfire  fashion." 

"  The  ribbons,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  are,  proba 
bly,  a  crazy  addition  ;  but  as  to  the  rest,  the  bonnets 
and  the  dress  are  of  the  same  fashion,  if  not  the 
very  same  articles,  she  wore  when  she  first  carne 
here  a  new  young  bride  ;  and  she  cannot  compre- 
nend  that  the  fashions  have  changed,  or  perhaps  the 


AT      GREYS  TONES.  299 

memory  of  the  pleasure  she  then  felt  in  her  array, 
still  clings  so  vividly  to  her  shattered  mind,  that* 
she  cannot  imagine  any  thing  else  so  fit  and  so 
fine/' 

"  Well,  about  Tuberose,  husband  ?  " 
"  He,  you  observe,  is  the  pink  of  nicety  and 
neatness.  He  comes  to  church  dressed  with  the 
greatest  propriety,  and  in  the  mode  of  the  day, 
with  a  delicate  little  nosegay  in  his  butt  on -hole. 
His  whole  presence  is  instinct  with  precision  and  de 
corum,  a  sense  of  the  proper  and  the  fit.  He  is 
perfectly  aware  of  the  grotesque  appearance  of  his 
wife,  and  of  the  ridicule  it  is  fitted  to  provoke  in 
the  coarse  or  the  thoughtless.  He  is  just  the  man 
to  have  the  keenest  sensibility  to  the  contrast  be 
tween  himself  and  her,  and  the  spectacle  they  make 
together.  Yet  you  see  not  a  trace  of  it  in  his  face 
or  manner,  as  he  goes  to  church  with  her — no  false 
shame,  no  mortified  vanity,  no  neglect  or  coldness 
to  her — not  a  particle  of  mean  feeling  or  behavior  ; 
on  the  contrary,  he  gives  her  his  arm  with  as  much 
deference  as  if  she  were  the  most  correctly  dressed 
duchess  in  his  native  land — more  than  this,  with  an 
air  of  protecting  reverence  that  represses  a]l  ridi 
cule,  and  commands  respect  for  her  from  everybody 
that  sees  them,  as  he  conducts  her  along  the  street, 


300  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

sits  beside  her  at  church,  and  goes  with  her  to  the 
chancel  rail  on  communion  Sundays. 

"  That  little  florist,  I  say,  has  that  something 
inside  which  it  takes  to  make  a  gentleman — the 
very  quintessential  internal  quality  of  one,  which 
Mr.  Stockjob  Pile  has  nothing  of.  Could  Stockjob 
behave  as  Tuberose  does  in  like  circumstances  ? 
No,  he  cannot  even  respect  such  behavior. 

"  I  declare  I  wish  I  had  a  sketch  of  Tuberose 
and  his  wife  coming  to  church  arm  in  arm — such  as 
Wilkie  would  have  made.  I  would  give  it  the 
place  of  honor  there,  under  Ary  Sheffer's  Christ  the 
Consoler." 

"But,  husband,  you  don't  give  me  your  defini 
tion  of  a  gentleman." 

"It  is  not  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  do, 
my  dear  ;  so  many  elements  enter  into  the  meaning 
of  the  term  in  its  fullest  comprehension.  It  takes, 
indeed,  as  I  said,  something  inside  to  make  a  gen 
tleman,  but  it  takes  also  something  outside.  Over 
and  above  the  essential  internal  qualities — princi 
ples,  sentiments,  impulses — there  is  also  included 
in  the  proper  idea  of  one,  a  certain  degree  of  pro 
priety  and  refinement  in  speech  and  manners.  A 
man  may  have  the  air  and  manner  of  a  gentleman 
without  the  spirit  of  one,  like  Stockjob  Pile  ;  though 


AT      GREYSTONES.  301 

where  the  spirit  is  wanting,  the  hollow  outside  will 
seldom  impose  for  any  length  of  time  upon  a 
tolerably  acute  observer.  And  on  the  other  hand, 
although  a  man  cannot  have  the  true  internal  spirit, 
but  it  will  of  course  find  expression  outwardly  in 
some  form — not  only  in  the  matter  of  his  speech 
and  conduct,  but  also  to  some  extent  even  in  the 
manner  of  it — there  may  still  be  a  lack  of  those 
external  requisites,  derived  from  breeding  and  cul 
ture,  which  we  commonly  and  properly  include 
in  the  idea  of  one  who  is  completely  a  gentleman. 
Then,  again,  a  person  may  have  the  true  spirit  of  a 
gentleman,  and  also  the  manners  of  one  in  a  degree 
to  entitle  him  to  the  appellation,  and  yet  he  may, 
in  various  degrees,  fall  short  of  possessing  those 
requisites,  partly  internal  and  partly  acquired — the 
delicate  deference,  nice  tact,  simple  ease,  and  the 
exquisite  grace,  and  courtesy — which  constitute  the 
inexplicable  charm  of  the  thorough-bred  and  perfect 
gentleman  in  the  highest  idea  of  the  term." 

"  But  about  those  essential  internal  qualities/' 
said  Mr*.  Oldham,  "  what  do  you  say  they  are  ?  " 

"  Well,  nobility  of  soul,  honor,  and  the  courage 
to  do  right,  respect  for  God's  image  in  every  human 
soul,  respect  for  every  thing  intrinsically  respecta 
ble,  and  delicacy,  gentleness,  and  kindness  of  spirit. 


302  DOCTOR     OLD  HAM 

These,  I  judge  Tuberose  to  have — he  is,  therefore, 
in  essence  a  true  gentleman,  though  he  is  by  no 
means  perfect  in  some  of  the  more  external  requi 
sites  for  a  finished  one  ;  yet,  I  dare  say  Stockjob 
Pile — who  thinks  lulling,  bearing,  cornering  and 
shaving  in  Wall  street,  more  respectable  employ 
ments  than  flower-growing — -would  smile  a  supercil 
ious  smile  to  hear  him  called  a  gentleman  in  any 
way,  because  he  has  no  idea  of  the  necessity  of  any 
thing  inside,  but  only  a  certain  external  position 
and  a  certain  correct  style  of  dress  and  manners. 

"  Honor  !  What  a  great  word,  in  the  right 
worthy  acceptation  of  it  !  What  a  world  of  ill-un 
derstood  meaning  in  it  !  With  multitudes,  honor 
is  considered  in  the  merest  external  way — birth, 
rank,  office,  or  whatever  is  valued  and  praised  by 
the  world  at  large  or  by  the  set  one  belongs  to, 
whatever  confers  reputation  or  distinction  in  the 
opinion  of  others.  The  desire  for  this  sort  of  honor 
may  exist  without  the  least  desire  to  merit  what  it 
seeks  for  :  to  gain  it,  is  all  that  is  cared  for.  This 
is  mere  ambition — and  in  men  of  great  force  of 
mind  and  will,  may  go  to  the  extent  of  a  passion — 
grasping  for  power,  place,  or  whatever  gives  promi 
nence  and  credit  in  the  world — working,  in  all  the 
exploits  it  prompts  to,  not  for  the  cause  of  truth  or 


*AT     OBEY  STONES.  303 

the  public  good  as  its  motive  (even  though  it  may 
seek  to  advance  them),  but  for  its  own  aggrandize 
ment,  and  so  engendering,  it  may  be,  or  tempting 
to  hatred,  envy,  and  all  vices  and  crimes,  to  com 
pass  its  end. 

"  But  true  honor  is  not  anything  merely  exter 
nal — neither  what  a  man  is  in  outward  position  by 
accident  of  birth  or  fortune,  nor  what  he  outwardly 
acquires.  No  true  honor  attaches  to  the  cowardly 
incapable  descendant  of  the  longest  line  of  brave 
and  able  ancestors — no  true  nobleness  to  the  mean 
souled  son  of  a  noble  father;  neither  to  him  who 
by  base  acts,  or  by  any  acts  and  doings  of  his  own, 
or  by  any  chance  of  fortune,  acquires  a  reputation 
he  does  not  deserve,  or  a  station  he  is  unfit  to  fill. 

"  Honor  is  something  internal  as  well  as  exter 
nal.  It  relates  to  a  man's  own  notion  of  what  is 
honorable  in  itself — to  his  own  sense  of  what  is 
binding  upon  him.  True  honor  falls  within  this 
sphere.  But  within  it  also  falls  a  great  deal  that 
is  fantastic  and  false. 

"  How  many  men  feel  no  shame,  for  instance, 
in  being  known  as  seducers  of  female  virtue,  and 
will  not  scruple  at  the  basest  lying  to  rob  a  loving 
and  confiding  woman  of  all  that  makes  life  worth 
having — and  yet  call  themselves  gentlemen  and 


304  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

men  of  honor,  and  are  so  held  by  such  as  have  the 
same  notions  of  honor  as  themselves.  Such  an  one 
does  not  count  his  honor  sullied  by  doing  the  base 
thing ;  but  tell  him  to  his  face  that  he  is  a  base 
liar,  and  he  will  think  nothing  but  your  blood  can 
wipe  out  the  stain  !  Such  a  man's  honor  falls  un 
der  the  same  head  as  the  proverbial  honor  among 
thieves — only  it  is  not  so  respectable  as  the  thief's 
sense  of  obligation  to  hold  truth  and  good  faith  to 
his  fellows.  It  falls  even  below  the  moral  standard 
of  Bob  Acres'  servant  (I  believe  it  is)  in  the  play  : 
'  he  had  no  objection  to  lie  for  his  master,  but  it 
hurt  his  conscience  terribly  to  be  found  out  ! '  It 
does  not  hurt  your  seducer's  honor  to  have  his  ly 
ing  found  out,  but  only  to  have  the  plain  true 
English  for  it  spoken  out  ! 

"  But  how  different  from  all  this  is  true  honor, 
which  lies  not  in  opinion,  not  in  the  breath  of  others, 
nor  in  any  thing  not  essentially  moral.  Its  con 
tents  are  truth,  sincerity,  good  faith,  probity,  mag 
nanimity,  generosity  of  spirit,  the  courage  to  do 
right,  and  the  strict  discharge  of  all  duties.  The 
man  who  takes  these  into  the  sphere  of  his  concep 
tion  of  honor,  and  puts  his  honor  in  them — is  them 
and  acts  them — he  is  the  man  of  true  honor,  with 
the  sense  of  honor  of  a  true  gentleman.  He  can- 


AT     GREYSTONES.  305 

not  lie,  break  faith,  nor  knowingly  do  wrong.  He 
will  not  be  guilty  of  any  mean  or  base  behavior, 
even  when  alone,  with  no  eye  to  see  him.  He  will 
never  take  credit  when  he  does  not  deserve  it,  nor 
for  any  noble  act  he  has  not  performed.  Neither 
gold  can  buy,  nor  wild  horses  drag  him  from  the 
path  of  right.  The  very  suggestion  of  selling  him 
self  to  a  wrong,  mean,  base  thing,  '  touches  his 
honor/  He  repels  it  with  indignant  scorn.  '  Sir/ 
said  my  friend  Henry  Keed's  noble  grandfather, 
when  the  British  emissary  sought  to  bribe  him  to 
the  Koyal  cause,  '  Sir,  I  am  very  poor,  but  your 
king  is  not  rich  enough  to  buy  me/  This  scorn, 
with  which  the  true  gentleman  repels  all  attempts 
upon  his  honor,  is  sometimes  called  pride  ;  but  it 
is  not  properly  pride — not  mere  self-esteem  and 
self-importance,  generally  arrogant,  and  sometimes 
supercilious,  which  demands  homage  from  all,  would 
make  all  humble  themselves  and  think  themselves 
nothing  in  its  presence.  It  is  merely  the  feeling 
of  disdain  and  disgust  at  what  is  base,  and  that 
erectness  of  spirit  which  must  accompany  the  con 
sciousness  of  one  who  feels  that  his  honor  has  no 
price.  Yet  this  lofty  self-respect  is  not  so  much  a 
mere  opinion  of  his  own  merits,  as  a  homage  to 
that  in  which  he  places  honor  ;  and  so  the  true 


306  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

gentleman  has  an  equal  respect  for  everything  re 
spectable  in  others.  There  is  no  jealousy,  envy,  or 
spirit  of  detraction  in  him.  Modest  in  speaking  of 
himself,  he  speaks  frankly,  fully,  gladly  in  praise  of 
others'  nobleness. 

"  This  is  the  honor  of  a  true  gentleman.  I  was 
pleased  to  light  the  other  day  upon  an  anecdote  of 
the  late  G-ouverneur  Morris,  who  is  said  to  have 
been  as  true  a  gentleman  as  ever  breathed.  When 
asked  for  his  definition  of  a  gentleman,  he  replied 
by  reciting  some  old  version  (I  don't  know  whose) 
of  the  Fifteenth  Psalm  : 

'Tis  he  whose  every  thought  and  deed 

By  rule  of  virtue  moves, 
Whose  generous  tongue  disdains  to  speak 

The  thing  his  heart  disproves ; 

Who  never  did  a  slander  forge 

His  neighbor's  fame  to  wound, 
Nor  hearken  to  a  false  report 

By  malice  whispered  round. 

Who  vice  in  all  its  pomp  and  power 

Can  treat  with  just  neglect, 
And  piety,  though  clothed  in  rags, 

Religiously  respect. 

Who  to  his  plighted  word  and  truth 

Has  ever  firmly  stood, 
And  though  he  promise  to  his  loss, 

He  makes  his  promise  good. 


AT     GREYSTONES.  307 

Whose  soul  in  usury  disdains 

His  treasures  to  employ  ; 
Whom  no  rewards  can  ever  bribe 

The  guiltless  to  destroy. 

"  It  is  said  also  that  Jefferson  copied  these 
verses  into  a  common-place  book,  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  constantly  consulting.  Both  Morris  and 
Jefferson  had,  you  see,  the  true  notion  of  the  honor 
of  a  gentleman,  even  if  they  did  not  always  come 
up  to  it  in  their  conduct — and  I  certainly  do  not 
mean  to  say  they  did  not. 

"  In  contrast  with  this,  look  at  Falstaff — the 
perfect  incarnation  of  a  base  soul — not  the  least 
sense  of  true  honor.  He  has  no  notion  even  of 
any  thing  but  mere  external  honor  lying  in  the 
opinion  of  others  ;  and  he  does  not  value  this  for 
itself,  but  only  as  the  means  of  gratifying  his  low, 
base  appetites.  For  this  he  values  it,  and  is  willing 
to  do  all  mean,  lying  and  abominable  things  ; 
though  when  it  comes  to  the  point  of  facing  death 
or  damage  to  his  filthy  carcass,  honor  becomes  '  a 
word ' — c  air ' — c  a  mere  scutcheon/  and  (  he'll  none 
of  it/  Hear  him  on  the  battle-field  of  Shrewsbury 
— where  he  skulks  about  intent  only  on  his  own 
safety — as  he  comes  upon  the  dead  body  of  Sir 
Walter  Blunt  :  '  There's  honor  for  you  ;  here's  no 


DOCTOR      OLDHAM 

vanity I  like  not  such  grinning  honor 

as  Sir  Walter  hath  :  give  me  life  ;  which  if  I  can 
save,  so  ;  if  not,  honor  comes  unlooked  for,  and 
there's  an  end/  Hear  him,  too,  after  saving  his 
life  by  feigning  to  fall  dead,  as  he  rises  and  stands 
over  the  body  of  Hotspur,  just  slain  by  Prince 
Henry  :  '  The  better  part  of  valor  is  discretion,  by 
which  I  have  saved  my  life.  Zounds  !  I  am  afraid 
of  this  gunpowder  Percy,  though  he  be  dead. 
How  if  he  should  counterfeit,  too,  and  rise  ?  By 
my  faith,  I  am  afraid  he  would  prove  the  better 
counterfeit.  Therefore  I'll  make  him  sure  ;  yea, 
and  I'll  swear  I  killed  him.  Why  may  not  he  rise, 
as  well  as  I  ?  Nothing  confutes  me  but  eyes,  and 
nobody  sees  me  :  therefore,  sirrah,  with  a  new 
wound  in  your  thigh  come  you  along  with  me/ 
And  so  lost  to  shame  that  he  faces  the  Prince  with 
his  lie,  though  he  knew  the  Prince  believed  him 
not. 

''  But  besides  this  sense  of  noble  honor,  the  true 
gentleman,  as  he  respects  himself,  so  he  respects 
his  fellow-men  and  God's  image  in  them  all.  His 
impulses  toward  them  are  delicate  and  considerate, 
prompting  him  to  gentle  thoughts  and  kind  judg 
ments.  And  these  sentiments  show  themselves  in 


AT     GREYSTONES.  309 

his  speech,  tone,  and  manner.  No  gentleman  is 
arrogant,  or  supercilious  toward  others,  especially 
toward  his  inferiors  in  position.  Nor,  on  the  other 
hand,  will  you  ever  see  in  him  any  thing  of  that 
offensive  condescension,  nor  that  peculiar  tone  and 
manner  towards  them,  which  constantly  and  un 
pleasantly  makes  them  feel  that  one  thinks  them 
beneath  him,  and  is  civil  or  polite  rather  out  of  regard 
to  what  is  due  to  himself,  than  what  is  due  to  them. 
This  is  a  great  touchstone  of  a  true  gentleman. 
In  fine,  no  true  gentleman  will  ever  deliberately, 
wantonly,  or  needlessly,  wound  the  feelings  of  oth 
ers,  trample  on  their  self-respect  or  self-love,  nor  in 
any  way  discompose  them,  put  them  out  of  counte 
nance,  or  make  them  ill  at  ease. 

"  What  a  fine  portrait  of  a  gentleman  is  Bul- 
wer's  Captain  Koland  De  Caxton  !  Some  one  has 
given  a  select  list  of  books  for  a  gentleman's  libra 
ry.  Now  a  gentleman  may  read  much  or  little — 
he  may  be  a  man  of  many  books,  or  of  one.  He 
may,  or  he  may  not  be,  accomplished  in  letters, 
learning,  art,  science.  All  this  is  incidental.  Cap 
tain  Koland  reads  nothing  but  his  Bible  and  Frois- 
sart's  Chronicle.  But  what  a  soul  of  honor  ! 
What  disdain  of  every  thing  wrong,  base,  mean  ! 
What  delicate  respect  and  deference  for  others  ! 


310  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

Do  yon  recollect  his  attempt  to  get  out  of  tlie  hall- 
door,  where  the  house-maid  was  scrubbing  the 
stones  ?  I  must  read  it  to  you.  Here  it  is,  in  the 
Caxton's — that  best  and  most  charming  of  all  Bul- 
wer's  novels,  as  I  think.  It  is  Pisistratus  tells  the 
story : 

"  Entering  the  hall,  I  discovered  my  uncle  Ko- 
land  in  a  state  of  great  embarrassment.  The  maid 
servant  was  scrubbing  the  stones  at  the  hall  door  ; 
she  was  naturally  plump,  and  it  is  astonishing  how 
much  more  plump  a  female  becomes  when  she  is 
on  all  fours  !  The  maid-servant  then  was  scrub 
bing  the  stones,  her  face  turned  from  the  Captain, 
and  the  Captain,  evidently  meditating  a  sortie,  stood 
ruefully  gazing  at  the  obstacle  before  him,  and 
hemming  aloud.  Alas  !  the  maid-servant  was  deaf ! 
I  stopped,  curious  to  see  how  uncle  Koland  would 
extricate  himself  from  the  dilemma. 

"  Finding  that  his  hems  were  in  vain,  my  uncle 
made  himself  as  small  as  he  could,  and  glided  close  to 
the  left  of  the  wall ;  at  that  instant  the  maid  turned 
round  toward  the  right,  and  completely  obstructed, 
by  this  manoeuvre,  the  slight  crevice  through  which 
hope  had  dawned  on  her  captive.  My  uncle  stood 
stock-still?  and,  to  say  the  truth,  he  could  not  have 


AT     GREYSTONES.  311 

stirred  an  inch  without  coming  into  personal  con 
tact  with  the  rounded  charms  which  blockaded 
his  movements.  My  uncle  took  off  his  hat,  and 
scratched  his  forehead  in  great  perplexity.  Pres 
ently,  by  a  slight  turn  of  the  flanks,  the  opposing 
party,  while  leaving  him  the  opportunity  of  return, 
entirely  precluded  all  chance  of  egress  in  that  quar 
ter.  My  uncle  retreated  in  haste,  and  now  pre 
sented  himself  on  the  right  wing  of  the  enemy. 
He  had  scarcely  done  so,  when,  without  looking 
behind  her,  the  blockading  party  shoved  aside  the 
pail,  that  crippled  the  range  of  her  operations,  and 
so  placed  it  that  it  formed  a  formidable  barrier, 
which  my  uncle's  cork  leg  had  no  chance  of  sur 
mounting.  Therewith  Captain  Koland  lifted  his 
eyes  appealingly  to  heaven,  and  I  heard  him  dis 
tinctly  ejaculate — 

" ( Would  to  God  she  were  a  creature  in 
breeches  ! ' 

''  But  happily  at  this  moment  the  maid-ser 
vant  turned  her  head  sharply  round,  and  seeing  the 
Captain,  rose  in  an  instant,  moved  away  the  pail, 
and  dropped  a  frightened  courtesy. 

"My  uncle  Koland  touched  his  hat.  CI  beg 
you  a  thousand  pardons,  my  good  girl/  said  he  ; 
and,  with  a  half  bow,  ['  proper,  my  dear,  to  a  mili- 


312  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

tary  man/  said  the  Doctor]  he  slid  into  the  open 
air. 

"  i  You  have  a  soldier's  politeness,  uncle/  said 
I,  tucking  my  arm  into  Captain  Roland's. 

"'Tush,  my  boy/  said  he,  smiling  seriously, 
and  coloring  up  to  the  temples  ;  i  tush  ;  say  a  gen 
tleman's  !  To  us,  sir,  every  woman  is  a  lady,  in 
right  of  her  sex.' 

"  There,  my  dear,  is  not  that  exquisite  ?  " 
"A   beautiful  picture!"   said   Mrs.   Oldham. 
"  I  wish  it  could  be  painted." 

"  Something  of  it  might  be  expressed  by  form 
and  color,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  but  nothing  but 
word-picturing  can  tell  the  whole  ;  and  how  charm 
ingly  Bulwer  has  portrayed  the  scene.  That  Cap 
tain  Roland  had  some  crotchets  about  birth  and 
blood,  which  he  carried  to  a  degree  of  extravagance, 
but  he  had  the  complete  inside  of  as  noble  a  gen 
tleman  as  ever  drew  breath. 

"  As  to  what  goes  to  make  up  both  the  inside 
and  outside  of  a  thorough  gentleman,  I  have  said 
there  are  several  things  in  the  matter  of  tact,  ease, 
polish — partly  natural  and  partly  of  breeding — 
which  may  exist  in  various  degrees,  all  the  way  up 


AT     GKEYSTONES.  313 

to  the  very  height  and  Accomplishment  of  ideal  per 
fection. 

"  The  politeness  of  the  thorough-bred  gentle 
man,  may  be  more  or  less  precise  and  formal,  ac 
cording  to  age,  country,  or  custom,  but  always 
there  is  in  it  a  sincere  naturalness,  which  has  the 
effect  of  never  seeming  overmuch  or  oppressive. 
To  make  other  persons  blocks  or  frames,  on  which 
to  hang  out  the  finery  of  one's  own  manners — as 
some  do — is  essentially  a  vulgar  vanity.  There 
goes  two  to  the  success  of  such  an  attempt,  and  a 
well-bred  man  of  the  world  knows  how  to  put  a 
stop  to  it  ;  though  for  myself,  when  any  one  tries 
it  on  me,  I  generally  knock  under  with  an  air  of 
pleased  and  edified  submission. 

"  We  include  in  the  idea  of  a  perfectly  well- 
bred  gentleman,  a  certain  cosmopolitan  freedom 
from  the  provincialism  or  cockneyism  which  is 
generated  by  a  narrow  sphere,  a  limited  knowledge 
of  the  world,  or  by  the  influence  of  trade  or  other 
special  callings.  We  look  also  for  an  easy  simplici 
ty  and  purity  of  language  ;  though  as  to  the  rest, 
the  thorough-bred  man  may  talk  much  or  little, 
with  more  or  less  vivacity  and  earnestness,  and 
more  or  less  gesticulation.  This  is  matter  of  na 
tion,  race,  or  individual  temperament.  An  Eng- 
14 


314  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

lishman,  a  Frenchman,  and  a  Spaniard  may  differ 
very  greatly  from  each  other  in  these  respects,  and 
yet  be  equally  thorough-bred. 

"  The  absence  of  egotism,  or  making  one's  self 
the  centre  of  all  interest,  is  implied  in  the  feeling 
and  just  taste  of  a  true  gentleman.  As  a  general 
rule,  the  well-bred  man  will  not  talk  much  of  him 
self,  his  own  sentiments,  feelings  and  doings — es 
pecially  in  general  society ;  but  not  always  does 
the  abundant  expression  of  one's  own  sentiments, 
and  the  ever-so-frequent  use  of  the  first  person, 
indicate  any  essential  egotism.  In  the  late  Chan 
cellor it  was  merely  the  frank  outpouring 

of  the  exuberant  fulness  of  a  rich  mind,  taking  the 
most  direct  and  natural  course.  You  could  see  he 
was  not  thinking  of  himself ;  he  was  so  absorbed 
in  the  interest  and  feeling  of  the  subject,  that  he 
was  unconscious  of  any  thing  else.  I  never,  for  a 
moment,  thought  of  him  as  an  egotist ;  though  I 
have  often  thought  so  of  men  who  rarely  used  the 
first  person,  or  spoke  of  themselves  directly,  yet  the 
thought  of  themselves  acd  the  display  of  them 
selves  was  at  the  bottom  of  all  they  said,  veiled, 
but  not  concealed,  by  the  adroitest  tact  of  a  prac 
tised  man  of  the  world. 

"  Another  thing  in  relation  to  a  gentleman's 


AT     GREYS  TONES.  315 

bearing  and  way  of  speaking.  I  have  often  been 
amused  to  observe,  both  here  and  in  England,  a 
foolish  affectation — foolish  because  an  affectation — 
of  extreme  quietness  in  speech  and  manner,  a  stud 
ied  avoidance  of  strong  or  energetic  expression — as 
if  the  reverse  of  wrong  were  the  only  right  thing, 
or  as  if  there  were  something  intrinsically  fine  or  of 
superior  tone  in  never  having,  or  in  never  giving 
full  or  earnest  expression  to,  any  sentiment  or  emo 
tion,  as  admiration,  or  the  like.  '  Nice,  'pon  hon 
or/  said  the  English  dandy,  eyeing  Niagara  for  a 
moment  through  his  glass.  '  Pretty  good/  returned 
his  fellow  dandy,  dropping  his  eye-glass,  after  an 
equally  brief  glance. 

"  Some  dull,  heavy-minded  persons,  but  very 
proud  withal,  and  conscious  of  being  unable  to 
shine,  or  display  themselves  to  advantage  in  con 
versation,  take  refuge  in  this  unimpressible  apathy, 
as  the  only  ground  they  can  stand  upon.  They  are 
like  bears — as  some  one,  Coleridge,  I  believe  it  is, 
says — that  live  by  sucking  the  paws  of  their  own 
self-importance.  But  mostly  it  is  an  affectation 
springing  from  vanity ;  and  though  some  really 
clever  persons,  who  might  be  very  agreeable,  are 
misled  by  it,  yet  more  commonly  it  is  the  folly  of 
such  as  cannot  say  any  thing  better  than  soft  insi- 


316  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

pidities  ;  and  so  society  is  the  gainer  by  their  af 
fectation. 

"  The  thorough  gentleman  understands  that  in 
the  intercourse  of  well-bred  society,  all  its  mem 
bers  stand  on  equal  footing.  He  is  never  troubled 
with  any  fear  of  compromising  himself  by  speaking 
to  the  wrong  person — a  snobbishness  very  common 
in  our  American  society.  He  is  not — like  Bank- 
field — always  on  the  watch  to  exploit  himself  (as 
the  French  say)  with  the  most  distinguished  per 
sons  present,  carefully  avoiding  all  others,  and 
scantly  civil  to  them  if  addressed.  He  may  talk 
more  and  more  familiarly,  perhaps,  with  those  he 
knows  best,  or  finds  most  agreeable  ;  but  he  treats 
all  with  equal  respect  and  courtesy. 

"  Courtesy  !  That  is  another  word  of  fine  im 
port,  second  only  to  honor  in  the  idea  of  a  thorough 
gentleman.  No  two  words  together,  perhaps,  go 
so  nearly  to  express  the  idea.  Courtesy  implies 
something  outward  in  manner  ;  yet  a  merely  formal 
courtesy,  springing  (it  may  be)  from  fastidious 
pride,  or  from  polished  selfishness,  is  held  of  little 
worth.  Its  hollowness  is  instinctively  felt  by  every 
finely  strung  heart.  It  gives  no  pleasure  and  con 
ciliates  no  regard,  but  awakens  only  displeasure  and 
dislike.  Genuine  courtesy  is  that  which  is  ani- 


AT     GREYSTONES.  317 

mated  by  a  gentle  and  kindly  spirit — which,  as  it 
conies  from  the  heart,  so  it  always  goes  to  the 
heart.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  although  a  gentle 
spirit  will  prompt  a  gentle  manner,  as  well  as  gen 
tle  thoughts  and  judgments  towards  our  fellow- 
men,  and  although  a  kindly  heart  will  prompt  kind 
words  and  a  kind  voice,  yet  these  two  together  do 
not  make  up  what  we  understand  by  the  word  cour 
tesy.  True  courtesy  is,  in  its  idea,  the  perfect  out 
ward  form  of  the  gentle  and  kindly  spirit — the 
flower  and  aroma  that  springs  from  those  twin 
roots.  Not  all  gentle  and  kindly  persons  can  be 
properly  called  courteous.  The  spirit  may  be  there, 
but  not  the  form.  Where  these  are  united,  there 
is  complete  and  perfect  courtesy — one  of  the  most 
graceful  and  gracious,  lovely  and  winning  things 
that  delight  human  eyes,  and  charm  human  hearts." 


318  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 


CHAPTER     XXXII. 

THE  DOCTOR'S  HOUSE — WHAT  AND  WHY  ABOUT  HIM. 

THE  Doctor  lias  a  saddle-horse,  and  takes  a  daily 
ride.  But  unlike  Doctor  Daniel  Dove's  immortal 
horse  Nobs,  there  is  nothing  extraordinary  in  the 
story  of  the  parentage  and  birth  of  Doctor  Old- 
ham's  Dick — that  is  to  say,  nothing  so  far  as  the 
Doctor  is  aware.  All  that  he  knows  about  him  is 
that  he  first  drew  the  vital  air  on  the  plains  of 
Mexico  ;  and  this  is  a  matter  of  credible  tradition 
— confirmed  by  Dick's  looks  and  habits,  rather 
than  of  the  Doctor's  own  knowledge.  Fred  tried  at 
first  to  get  him  registered  in  the  family  vocabulary 
as  Eichard  Lionheart,  but  finally  acceded  to  the 
designation  of  Kichard  Mustang,  as  having  refer 
ence  to  his  country  and  his  race,  which  name  Phil 
maliciously  prolongs  to  "  Kichard  Mustang  Lini- 


AT     GREYSTONES.  319 

ment,"  to  the  great  disgust  of  Fred  ;  and  the  Doc 
tor  often  shortens  to  "  Dick  Musty/'  to  Fred's 
scarcely  less  displeasure. 

It  rnay  be  that  if  Dick's  story  could  be  known, 
the  faithful  record  would  be  as  extraordinary  and 
romantic,  and  as  trying  to  the  modesty  of  Miss 
Prim,  as  the  story  of  Nob's  parentage  was  to  the  Di 
rectresses  of  the  Book  Club  that  insisted  on  extract 
ing  the  offending  chapter — by  a  scissorsean  opera 
tion — before  Southey's  book  was  allowed  to  go  its 
village  round.  But  Miss  Prim's  propriety  will  not 
be  shocked  by  any  thing  I  have  to  recount  concerning 
Dick's  father  and  mother,  for  it  is  not  known  who 
his  parents  were,  and  so  I  could  not  set  down  any 
thing  about  their  behavior,  in  a  strict  historical 
way,  but  only  quite  generally,  as  matter  of  neces 
sary  inference.  There  is  ample  scope,  indeed,  in 
the  absence  of  known  facts — and  the  greater  from 
the  entire  absence  of  them — for  acute  and  erudite 
conjecture  of  things  neither  impossible  nor  improb 
able,  which  I  might  put  together  with  such  art  and 
skill,  as  to  make  them  pass  for  true  ;  as  many  bi 
ographers  supply  the  lack  of  known  events  in  the 
early  days  of  distinguished  men,  or  as  some  cele 
brated  historians  illuminate  a  dark  period  in  the 
history  of  the  human  race. 


320  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

But  I  have  a  reverence  for  historical  truth,  even 
in  the  pedigree  of  a  horse,  and  as  I  know  nothing 
of  Dick's,  I  say  nothing.  Indeed,  if  I  knew  ever 
so  much,  it  would  not  be  pertinent  to  my  purpose 
to  recount  it ;  for  I  have  introduced  Dick  not  for 
his  own  sake,  but  because  Dick's  ways  and  his  mas 
ter's  ways  together,  are  now  and  then  the  cause  of 
odd  mishaps,  one  of  which  connected  itself  in  the 
Doctor's  mind  with  another  horse,  which  was  con 
nected  with  a  calamity  that  was  connected  with 
the  greatest  blessing  of  the  Doctor's  life,  as  he 
justly  regards  the  occasion  that  led  to  his  gaining 
the  greatest  earthly  treasure,  a  good  wife.  But  for 
Dick,  it  is  quite  possible  I  might  never  have  learned 
the  story  of  that  calamity,  but  for  which  there 
would  have  been  no  Doctor  and  His  Wife  ;  and  so 
this  immortal  book  would  never  have  seen  the 
light. 

There  is  a  great  deal  more  in  things  than  some 
people  think. 


AT     GREYSTONES.  321 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

ALL-HANG-TOGETHER-NESS. 

THOUGHTFUL  Eeader !  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you 
to  think  the  thought  I  would  suggest  by  the  word 
I  have  placed  above  ?  If  you  have  ever  perpended 
it  deeply  and  long,  I  need  not  tell  you  it  is  some 
thing  to  bewilder  the  mind  in  the  attempt  to  grasp 
and  follow  it. 

What  a  storehouse  is  the  mind  of  man  !  filled 
with  images  of  every  thing  we  get  by  our  senses, 
and  with  ideas,  thoughts,  feelings,  in  the  intellec 
tual  and  moral  sphere,  and  all  of  them,  images, 
thoughts,  feelings,  married  to  words  that  more  or 
less  clearly  and  vividly  represent  and  reproduce 
them.  A  storehouse  of  what  capacity  !  made  to 

contain  the  experiences  of  Eternity,  where  nothing 
14* 


322  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

once  deposited  is  ever  lost — many  things  gone 
perhaps  from  the  present  memory  of  the  moment, 
but  there,  and  may  be  recalled.  A  brain  fever 
may  quicken  what  has  slept  in  the  mind  a  long 
lifetime — as  seen  in  those  Pennsylvania  Swedes 
that  Rush  (I  believe)  tells  us  of,  praying  on  their 
death-beds,  in  their  mother  tongue,  the  little  prayers 
of  their  childhood — prayers  and  a  tongue  gone  from 
their  recollection  for  threescore  years  or  more. 

The  records  of  a  whole  life  are  rendered  up  to 
memory  in  a  moment,  in  the  case  of  drowning  men 
— as  recovered  persons  say. 

What  may  not  death  do  for  us  all  ? 

It  is  astounding  to  consider  the  universe  con 
centrated  in  the  unity  of  a  single  consciousness. 
But  for  this  unity  of  consciousness,  nothing  in  the 
storehouse  of  the  mind  could  be  said  to  be  truly 
there.  Yet  what  an  unspeakable  chaos  would  this 
storehouse  be,  what  useless  lumber  all  its  treasures, 
were  it  not  for  the  ways  by  which  they  are  con 
nected,  and  through  which  they  may  be  evoked. 

Most  curious  and  wonderful  is  it  to  think  how 
all  things  are  tied  and  linked  together,  so  that  there 
is  not  one  single  thing — object,  image,  thought, 
word — but  is  connected  with  every  other  thing — 
object,  image,  thought,  word — in  the  universe,  con- 


AT     GREYSTONES.  323 

nected  more  or  less  nearly  or  remotely,  and,  it  may 
be,  in  half  a  score  of  ways,  by  relations  of  cause 
and  effect,  substance  and  quality,  universal  and 
particular,  genus  and  species,  sameness  and  differ 
ence,  likeness  and  unlikeness,  nearness  or  distance 
in  time  or  place.  Just  as  there  is  not  a  single  point 
in  the  infinitude  of  space  from  which  you  cannot 
go  to  every  other  point — if  not  in  an  actual  or 
practical,  yet  in  a  mathematical  and  theoretical 
way  ;  so  there  is  not  an  object  for  the  senses,  nor 
an  image  for  the  fancy,  nor  a  conception,  nor  a 
thought,  but  will  carry  you  (if  you  allow  it)  away 
over  hill  and  dale,  across  plains  and  rivers,  to  the 
topmost  peaks  of  the  highest  mountains  ;  across 
seas  and  oceans  to  the  world's  end  ;  to  the  plan 
ets  ;  to  the  utmost  stars  whose  light  has  been  trav 
elling  for  ages  toward  our  world,  and  has  ages  yet 
to  travel  before  it  will  strike  our  orb  ;  and  so  on 
ward  and  outward  in  every  conceivable  line  of  mo 
tion,  through  all  space  and  through  all  time. 

Behold  a  symbol,  or  rather  the  suggestion  of 
one  : 


324 


DOCTOK     OLDHAM 


Now,  thoughtful  reader,  consider — that  this 
common  centre  may  be  anywhere,  and  consequently 
that  every  point  in  the  infinitude  of  space  may  be 
the  centre  of  such  a  figure  lying  in  every  plane. 

Therefore  try  to  bring  clearly  before  thy  mind's 
eye  infinitude,  in  the  boundless  height  and  depth 
and  length  and  breadth  of  its  sphere  and  pleni- 


AT     GREYSTONES.  325 

tude,  thus  diagrammed  :  an  infinite  series  of  con 
centric  spheres,  and  every  point  in  infinitude  a 
centre,  with  radiating  lines  cutting  and  tangents 
starting  from  every  point  in  the  periphery  of  every 
sphere. 

Thou  canst  not  indeed  get  a  clear  image  of  all 
this,  for  the  imageable  infinite  is  a  contradiction. 
When  we  attempt  to  measure  the  absolutely  infi 
nite,  we  get  nothing  at  the  greatest  but  the  indefi 
nitely  extended  finite — a  mere  zero  of  the  infinite. 

I  am  well  aware  of  this  :  I  only  said  try  ;  and 
if  thou  triest  long  enough  and  patiently  enough, 
thou  wilt  conceive  enough  and  get  enough  of  image 
to  be  to  thee  a  symbol  of  the  all-liang-tog ether- 
ness  of  things  in  the  mind  of  man. 

To  me  at  times  much  revolving  this  matter,  it 
becomes  something  quite  appalling  to  consider 
what  and  how  much  may  be  involved  in  the  utter 
ance  of  a  single  word.  It  matters  little  what  one. 
Take  any  one  at  hazard  out  of  the  dictionary,  from 
Abaca  to  Zythmn — if  you  can  tell  what  these 
words  mean,  most  courteous  reader,  without  look 
ing  them  out  in  the  dictionary,  you  can  tell  more 
than  I  could  two  minutes  ago — take  any  word  out 
of  Webster's  Dictionary — and  it  is  said  there  are 


326  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

some  fourscore  thousand  of  them  ;  or  any  one  out 
of  the  biographical,  geographical,  statistical,  eco 
nomical,  or  scientific  dictionaries — amounting,  for 
aught  I  know,  to  as  many  thousands,  or  more  than  as 
many  thousands  more — each  of  which  words  will 
stand  connected,  according  to  your  knowledge,  with 
all  other  words  of  all  the  other  tongues  you  know — 
take  any  word,  I  say,  and  who  can  tell  what  a 
length  of  travel  it  may  entail.  It  is  frightful  to  con 
sider  how  far  from  country,  home,  and  friends,  the 
man  that  utters  it  or  hears  it  may  he  compelled  to 
go.  And  so  absolutely  numberless  are  the  roads  that 
start  from  that  single  word — straight,  crooked,  cir 
cling,  zig-zag — with  myriads  of  crossings  and  re- 
crossings,  turnings  and  returnings,  junctions  and 
partings,  confluences  and  divergences — as  you  con 
ceive,  by  considering  the  diagram. 

Your  course  may  take  any  direction  of  the  com 
pass. 

It  may  take  any  line  of  progress. 

I  would  illustrate  the  subject  by  a  special  dia 
gram  or  two,  but  I  should  instantly  remind  such  a 
reader  as  I  take  you  to  be,  of  Tristram  Shandy's 
figure  of  the  progress  of  his  story,  and  the  sugges 
tion  of  that  is  enough  for  you  ;  as  for  those  that 
have  not  seen  it,  let  them  look  and  see. 


AT     GKEYSTONES.  327 

Thoughtful  Header  !  If  you  have  meditated 
upon  this  matter,  I  need  not  tell  you  it  is  some 
thing  to  make  one's  head  ache,  if  one  goes  on  long 
in  the  attempt  to  grasp  all  the  possibilities  of  the 
problem. 

If  you  have  not,  try  it. 

Take  any  word,  and  follow  out  your  thoughts. 
setting  down  the  single  words,  or  the  prominent 
word  of  any  fact,  scene,  thought,  that  may  be  suc 
cessively  suggested.  I  will  give  you  the  beginning 
of  an  example  : 

LIGHT, 

Darkness, 

Sun, 

Stars, 

Creation, 

Moses, 

Eden, 

The  Devil, 

Milton, 

Homer, 

Greece, 

Troy, 


Italy, 


328  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

Louis  Napoleon, 
The  Uncle, 
St.  Helena, 
Louis  Philippe, 
Ups  and  Downs, 
Solferino, 
Villafranca, 
Cigarettes, 
Vive  la  Bagatelle, 
Oxenstiern, 
Miss  Bremer, 
etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

Thus  you  see  I  have  been  back  to  the  beginning 
of  things,  and  thence  from  country  to  country,  from 
person  to  person,  and  from  thing  to  thing,  down  to 
this  day,  and  I  might  go  on  through  all  time — and 
not  without  reason,  for  every  step  of  the  way.  And 
you  will  consider,  too,  that  each  word  in  this  list 
might  have  suggested  other  words,  and  led  off  in 
innumerable  other  directions  in  other  series  of  con 
nections.  At  the  word  Darkness,  for  instance,  it 
might  have  gone  thus  : 

DARKNESS, 
Lamps, 


Or  thus  : 


AT     GKEYSTONES.  329 

Kuskin, 
Pre-Kaphael, 
etc.,  etc. 


DARKNESS, 
Gas, 

Windbags, 
Stump  Orators, 
Democracy, 
The  Devil, 
etc.,  etc. 


At  the  word  Stars  thus  : 


STARS, 

Herschell, 

Cape  of  Good  Hope, 

De  Gama, 

Indies, 

Columbus, 

Americus  Vespuccius, 

The  way  with  the  world, 

etc.,  etc. 


330  DOCTOR     O  L  D  H  A  M 

At  the  word  Moses  thus  : 

MOSES, 

Pharaoh, 

Joseph, 

Mrs.  Potiphar, 

Cream  Cheese, 

Howadji, 

Nile, 

Pyramids, 

Bricks, 

Fugitives, 

Catch  Law, 

Democracy, 

The  Devil, 

etc.,  etc. 

At  the  word  Troy  thus  : 
TROY, 
Hector, 
Mclntyre, 
Highlanders, 
Scythes, 
Preston  Pans, 
Col.  Gardiner, 
Pretender, 


AT      GREYS  TONES.  331 

Flora  Mclvor, 

Waverley, 

Wizard, 

Witches, 

Salem, 

Hawthorne, 

etc.,  etc. 

These  are  the  merest  hints  in  the  way  of  solving 
the  stupendous  problem,  of  what  may  come  of  a 
word  if  you  engage  to  follow  it.  If  I  had  an  acre 
of  parchment,  instead  of  these  tiny  pages,  I  could 
draw  you  something,  in  the  fashion  of  the  old  ge 
nealogical  trees,  that  might  better  show  you  what 
may  spring  and  branch  from  the  root  and  stem  of  a 
single  word  ;  though  that  would  be  also  the  merest 
beginning  of  a  complete  exemplification.  But  then 
an  acre  of  parchment  might  answer  to  suggest  to 
you,  0  thoughtful  Header  !  more  than  ten  thou 
sand  square  miles  of  it  could  contain.  You  would 
see  that  every  word — if  it  have  not,  like  every  hu 
man  being,  two  parents,  four  grandparents,  eight 
great-grandparents,  sixteen  great-great-grandpa 
rents,  and  so  on,  in  a  geometrical  series — has,  nev 
ertheless,  numberless  children,  grandchildren,  great 
grandchildren,  great-great-grandchildren,  and  col- 


332 


DOCTOR    OLDHAM 


lateral  descendants,  in  an  infinitely  expanding  series 
of  more  than  geometrical  proportion. 

Besides,  you  must  consider  that  the  progeny  of 
a  single  word,  the  lines  of  descent,  the  branchings 
and  off  shoo  tings,  may  be  as  various  as  there  are 
various  minds.  I  once  tried  half  a  dozen  of  my 
friends  with  the  word  Boots  ;  and  I  will  give  you 
the  list  which  each  one  wrote  down  : 


I. 


II. 


III. 


BOOTS, 

BOOTS, 

BOOTS, 

Shoes, 

Leather, 

Suwarrow, 

Slippers, 

Calf, 

Crimea, 

Sandals, 

Bull, 

Wellington, 

Washing, 

Wooden  shoes, 

Waterloo, 

Christ, 

Mont  Blanc, 

Napoleon, 

Peter, 

Supper, 

Guards, 

Judas, 

Dance, 

Irish, 

Arnold, 

Pharisees, 

Fontenoy, 

Gen.  Lee, 

Hypocrisy, 

Louis  XIV., 

Geo.  H.  M., 

Cotton  Gospel, 

etc.,  etc. 

N.  Y.  Hist.  Soc., 

etc.,  etc 

etc.,  etc. 

AT    GREYSTONES. 


333 


IV. 

V. 

VI. 

BOOTS, 

BOOTS, 

BOOTS, 

English  Inn, 

Bootmaker, 

Cobbler, 

"  Mine  ease/' 

Cobbler, 

Wax, 

Falstaff, 

Waxend, 

Twine, 

Francis, 

Backsides, 

Koses, 

"  Anon,    anon, 

Pumps, 

Bowery, 

sir," 

Silk  Stockings, 

Kowdy, 

Shakspeare, 

Calves  , 

Lize, 

Theatre, 

Grenadiers, 

Satan, 

John  Wesley, 

Wellington, 

Asmodeus, 

Astor  House, 

Napoleon, 

Sticks, 

Fanny  Kemble, 

etc.,  etc. 

Gum, 

etc.,  etc. 

Water, 

"  Foam/' 

Spitzbergen, 

etc.,  etc. 

In  these  lists  the  connection  of  the  words  ill  the 
minds  of  the  several  writers,  is  for  the  most  part 
easy  enough  to  be  seen  by  the  intelligent  reader, 
although  in  some  cases  it  would  seem  to  be  owing 
to  something  casual  and  incidental.  The  last  list 
was  given  me  by  my  bright-minded  young  friend 
Susan  Garland,  from  whose  clever  and  excellent 
mother  I  at  the  same  time  received  the  one  that 


334  DOCTOR    OLDHAM 

stands  second  above.  In  Susan's,  there  is  a  subtle 
poetic  association,  linking  the  cobbler's  twine  with 
the  roses  that  fair  fingers  twine  ;  "and  an  equally 
subtle  link  connecting  the  maiden's  rose-bower  with 
the  Bowery  street  of  New  York. 

But  enough  for  the  thoughtful  reader  ;  to  the 
one  who  does  not  think,  more  would  be  so  much 
more  thrown  away. 

"  FUDGE  ! " 

I  make  no  doubt  of  it. 

i(  I  don't  see  what  it  has  to  do  here." 

Very  likely  not. 

"  But  what  made  you  bring  it  in  here  ?  " 

The  Doctor's  horse. 


AT     GREYSTONES.  335 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 


L'ENVOY,   PERHAPS. — CONTAINING    SOMETHING    NATURAL — AND   ALSO 

SOMETHING   SUPERNATURAL,  FROM    WHICH    NOTHING    CAME   EXCEPT 
SOME  NATURAL  REMARKS  OF  THE  DOCTOR'S. 


I  WAS  sitting  in  my  study,  going  over  in  my 
thoughts  the  various  sorts  of  good  readers  invoked 
by  good  authors,  and  setting  down  the  names  as 
they  occurred  to  me  : 

Courteous, 

Gentle, 

Kind, 

Candid, 

Benevolent, 

Friendly, 

Intelligent, 


336  DOCTOR      OLDHAM 

Discriminating, 

Sagacious, 

Judicious, 

Learned, 

Thoughtful, 

Wise. 


I  stopped,  when  thus  far,  in  a  musing  way, 
making  unconsciously  on  the  paper  the  Doctor's 
favorite  cypher  : 


Whether  the  forming  of  the  monogram  acted 
in  this  case  as  a  charm  or  spell,  I  know  not — it 
never  had  any  such  mystic  power  before  ;  but 
now 


Forth  from  the  invisible  vacant  space 
Dimly  emerged,  thick  clustering,  half  seen  forms, 
Hovering  and  peeping  through  the  airy  veil, 
— Ever  blank  vacancy  to  unpurg'd  eyes — 
And  then  the  veil  itself  dissolved  away, 


AT     GREYSTONES.  337 

And  dear  familiar  faces  one  by  one 
Took  form  distinct,  where  form  was  none  before, 
And  smiles  of  pleasant  recognition  filled 
The  peopled  air  a  moment  since  so  void. 


In  shore,  I  was  surrounded  by  a  throng  of  EI- 
DOLA,  or  spiritual  forms  of  readers — a  crowd  of 
pleasant  faces — not  a  disagreeable  one  among  them, 
not  a  captious,  or  caviling,  or  cynical,  or  sneering — 
not  a  dull  or  incapable  one,  not  even  a  critical  one 
in  the  sense  of  one  who  reads  merely  in  order  to 
pass  a  judgment  ;  but  every  sort  of  good  reader 
ever  apostrophized  by  good  authors  ;  and  not  only 
the  specific  or  representative  forms  of  the  different 
sorts,  but  scores  of  individual  images  of  each  sev 
eral  sort — ten  times  as  many  as  the  little  room 
could  have  held  if  they  had  come  in  proper  solid 
bulk,  and  ten  times  ten  as  many,  if  the  feminine 
ones  had  come,  needing  room  not  only  for  their 
proper  bulk,  but  also  for  the  vast  environments  of 
hoops  or  crinoline,  in  the  midst  of  which  they  ordi 
narily  go  about.  But  appearing,  not  indeed  in 
pur  is  naturalibus — which  they  knew  to  be  im 
proper  even  for  spirits,  but  very  becomingly  draped 
in  the  pure  EIDOLON,  or  image  way,  there  was  plenty 
of  space  for  them  all,  without  the  least  jostling  or 
crowding  of  hoops.  Which  fact  persuades  me  it 
15 


338  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

was  not  without  reason  the  old  schoolmen  enter 
tained  the  question,  how  many  angels  could  be  ac 
commodated  on  the  point  of  a  needle,  and  also  the 
question  whether  those  celestial  creatures  could  not 
go  from  one  point  in  space  to  any  other  point,  how 
ever  remote,  without  going  through  the  interme 
diate  points.  And  this  again  reminds  me,  sugges 
tively,  of  the  truth  enunciated  by  Mr.  Shandy, 
when  he  said :  "it  is  not  without  reason,  brother 
Toby,  that  learned  men  have  written  dialogues 
upon  long  noses."  Which  reminds  me  again  of  the 
remark  Dr.  Oldham  (who  has  a  wonderfully  gener 
alizing  faculty  of  mind)  made  upon  Mr.  Shandy's 
observation — namely,  that  all  things  either  have  a 
reason,  or  else  have  no  reason  at  all  ;  of  which  lat 
ter  sort  are  all  the  greatest  and  truest  truths,  God, 
and  Duty,  and  all  Divine-Eternal  things.  If  the 
remark  seem  to  any  one  obscure  or  worse,  I  am 
sorry  for  him  ;  it  is  not  my  fault.  Perhaps  it  may 
be  the  fault  of  the  remark.  Perhaps  not. 

"  But  what  of  the  vision  ?     What  came  of  it  ?  " 

Well,  nothing  came  of  it. 

"  Indeed  !  Then  methinks  it  is  a  case  of  large 
promise  and  small  performance — a  grand  show  of  a 
road  leading  nowhere/' 

I  am  very  sorry  ;  but  there  was  no  help  for  it. 


AT     GREYSTONES.  339 

Only  you  must  consider  how  much  better  it  is  to 
bring  up  nowhere  with  a  whole  skin,  than  to  break 
one's  bones  by  tumbling  over  a  precipice. 

But  I  correct  myself.  I  did  not  mean  to  say 
that  absolutely  nothing  came  of  it,  for  the  Doctor 
came  of  it,  and  that  remark  of  the  Doctor's  which 
I  have  just  given,  which  would  not  otherwise  have 
come,  and  which  alone  is  worth  a  chapter  by  itself 
— in  the  opinion  of  those  who  think  so.  Of  whom 
I  am  one. 

I  only  meant  to  say  that  the  spirits  of  my  vis 
ion  said  nothing.  What  they  might  have  said  if 
the  Doctor  had  not  come,  neither  you  nor  I  can 
tell.  Only  I  hope,  if  they  had  made  me  the  organ 
or  medium  of  their  utterances,  they  would  have 
given  me  something  more  sensible  to  set  down  than 
Judge  Edmonds*  spirits  make  him  write.  Lord 
Bacon  (since  the  death  of  the  pedant  king  who 
likened  his  great  work  to  "  the  peace  of  God,  which 
passeth  all  understanding ")  has  been  thought  by 
most  persons  to  have  discoursed  very  respectably 
when  in  the  flesh.  But  even  if  he  had  been  as 
foolish  as  his  royal  critic,  the  stuff  he  now  talks  to 
Judge  Edmonds  would  make  one  think  of  the  ex 
clamation  of  the  man  in  Moliere's  play  upon  meet- 
Ing  the  spirit  (as  he  thought)  of  his  friend  whom 


340  DOCTOR     OLDHAM 

he  supposed  to  be  dead  :  "  my  old  friend's  ghost  ! 
How  ugly  he  looks  !  He  never  was  very  handsome, 
and  death  has  improved  him  very  much  the  wrong 
way  !  "  A  terribly  deteriorating  place  for  the  in 
tellect  that  spirit-world  must  be,  to  make  such 
fools  of  men  like  Lord  Bacon  and  the  other  famous 
spirits  whom  "  the  Judge  "  evokes. 

But  my  spirits  said  nothing  ; — for  just  as  they 
had  grouped  themselves  into  one  great  living  bou 
quet  of  noble  and  beautiful  countenances,  with  so 
many  varieties  of  fine  expression  of  mind  and  soul, 
and  I  was  rapt  in  contemplation  of  the  sight,  I  was 
startled  by  a  touch,  and  looking  up  saw  the  Doctor 
looking  over  my  shoulder.  I  had  not  been  con 
scious  of  his  entrance  ;  but  his  coming  broke  up 
the  concourse.  The  disturbed  images  departed  like 
dissolving  views,  until  nothing  was  left  around  me 
but  "  air,  thin  air,"  and  the  Doctor.  .  .  . 

"  What  a  bead  roll/'  said  the  Doctor,  running 
his  eyes  over  the  list,  "  but  after  all,  the  readers 
that  every  author  Kkes  best,  are  those  who  like  his 
book.  In  fact,  as  bread,  according  to  Lord  Peter's 
determination,  includes  every  other  nutritive  sub 
stance,  so  such  readers  become  courteous,  gentle, 
kind,  candid,  benevolent,  friendly,  intelligent,  dis 
criminating,  sagacious,  judicious,  learned,  thought- 


AT      GREYSTONES.  341 

ful,  and  wise  all  at  once — in  a  word,  they  become 
in  quintessential  excellence  every  sort  of  good  reader 

ever  invoked And  Dear^  withal,  which 

is  not  a  name  of  a  sort,  but  a  word  of  the  heart, 
which  the  author  addresses  to  his  readers,  with  va 
rious  shades  of  feeling  indeed,  according  to  the 
person  and  the  case,  but  always  as  implying  an  es 
tablished  sympathy  and  liking  between  them. 

"  And  as  to  the  Courteous,  which  stands  at  the 
head  of  your  list,  you  may  remember  that  while  it 
takes  something  more  than  a  gentle  and  kind  spirit 
to  make  a  courteous  person  in  the  intercourse  of 
social  life,  these  dispositions  are  quite  enough  to 
make  a  courteous  reader — which  is  something  au 
thors  may  be  thankful  for  ;  it  gives  them  a  chance 
for  a  larger  parish." 

But  how  will  it  fare  with  this  book  ? 

I  am  apt  to  think  it  will  be  liked  and  disliked  ; 
and  perhaps  the  liking  of  the  likers  will  not  be  so 
strong  as  the  dislike  of  the  dislikers  ;  yet  I  shall 
be  more  gratified  by  the  liking  of  those  that  like 
it,  than  troubled  by  the  disliking  of  those  that  dis 
like  it.  I  shall  be  very  prone  to  think  more  highly 
of  the  judgment  and  taste  of  the  former  than  of 


342  DOCTOR     OLD  II  AM 

the  latter.     There  is  a  great  deal  of  human  nature 
in  other  men  besides  Gil  Bias's  Archbishop. 

Be  all  this  as  it  may,  if  it  finds  enough  of  likers, 
I  may  find  more  to  say  about  the  Doctor,  and  more 
of  his  talk  to  set  down. 


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LOAN  DEPT. 

™*"  OHlY-m.  NO. 


UI70&, 


(N5382S10Y476-A032  Univ^rsTty^CalS^ 

Berkeley 


